Close Encounters 7
by chezchuckles
Summary: CE 7: Live and Let Die. After the horrifying showdown with Bracken and Black, Spy Castle and Beckett take time to find a new normal.
1. Chapter 1

**Close Encounters 7: Live and Let Die**

* * *

for Jessie  
because I don't think she would really die  
but you never know

* * *

The lights were out now and the night had fallen darkly over the streets of New York. Castle moved silently through the motel room, checking the windows once more, the door. Kate had given up on him and gone to bed, but he prowled the suite until exhaustion began to dig its nails into his back.

There was nothing left to do. He tapped his gun against his thigh and moved to the window once more. The blackout curtains kept anyone from seeing inside, but it also prevented Castle from looking out. Still, he slid one panel to the side and watched the street until the tension in his shoulders became unbearable.

They had everything packed for tomorrow, but the move wasn't schedule until six, when most of her friends from the 12th would finally be off work. The sun would be setting then as well, and the long shadows and encroaching night would blur their features from any watchful eyes.

Still he couldn't sleep.

He hadn't returned the Director's call.

And he wasn't going to.

He needed more time.

* * *

She watched him in the waning light that spilled in through the open front door. _Their_ open front door.

He settled the box on top of a stack of them in the entryway and put his hands on his hips, his head tilting as he studied her. Kate couldn't see the details of his face, the way the light backlit him, but she almost could feel the soft smile, the tenderness there. The golden man.

He reached out and caught her hip, tugged her into him with a jerk that had her stuttering across the wooden floor and into his body. He smelled of sweat and sunshine and she leaned in to press her mouth to his neck.

"Hey there, sweetheart," he murmured to her, a hand coming into her hair and tangling. "You like it?"

"Love it," she breathed out.

When she lifted her head, she was close enough to see the pride in his face, the little boy pleasure at having gotten her a gift. She bit her lip and smiled back at him, cupped his cheek and scratched her nails along the five o'clock shadow.

"Hey, baby," she murmured. "You got the last of it?"

"Yeah. Last box. Boys still here?"

"Mm, whole crowd of them trying to make your illegal satellite tv work. I promised pizza," she answered. Her fingers trailed down his arm and snagged his hand; she leaned past him to shut the front door and then tugged him after her towards the kitchen.

"Pizza sounds good," he offered. "You have cash on you?"

Kate shook her head. "Was going to do it online-"

"No," he said quickly and she glanced back at him. She shouldn't be so surprised, not anymore; it should be second nature to her now, all the things he didn't want them to do. She could handle his paranoia; she could.

"Okay," she said slowly. "No online ordering. Got it. I can call?"

His lips pressed flat and his eyes went dark. "It gives them our address. There's a place a couple blocks over, right? I can just go for carry out."

So she was never allowed to order in pizza?

His hand squeezed in hers and she glanced down at their laced fingers, his strong forearms and the dusting of hair and freckles.

Okay. No pizza.

Not so hard.

"Get five or six," she said quietly. She cleared her throat and lifted her head to his gaze, saw the worry laced with a firmness that meant he wouldn't back down on this. He thought he was keeping them safe. And maybe he was.

"Five or six. All kinds?" he said.

She nodded and raised their joined hands, pressed them between their bodies as she lifted up on her toes. He seemed surprised by the kiss, and his hand startled to her hip, held her there. Kate took a breath and then nudged him away.

"Go get pizza. Gotta feed our boys."

He grinned back and that pleased pride was on his face again, sweet and almost shy. "I'll be back in thirty."

She let him go, watching him snake through the stacks of boxes towards the front door again. He plucked a key from the entry table and held it up to her, a little smirk, and then he disappeared out the front door.

She stood in their new home, her heart leaning after him, until the raucous noise of the officers and detectives from the 12th pulled her back to the present.

* * *

The Range Rover was too conspicuous. More than he'd realized. They'd have to get a new car; vehicles that his father hadn't seen. Her Crown Vic - maybe he could sneak an upgrade if she was still set on going back to the 12th. The Chargers were government issued and the CIA had a contract with Ford; he'd contact the new Captain and get to work on that.

Castle made a mental note as he drove, his eyes on the road. He had a long list of things they needed to do to maintain as much anonymity as they could. He was tired of feeling like they were looking out into the abyss, but the lists and the alertness and the constant checking and rechecking - it made him believe he could keep them from the edge.

The pizza place Kate had mentioned was only a few blocks up, but he drove nearer to Central Park and picked a place he'd never been before but had heard good things from the boys. He parked in a garage and walked back two blocks, stepped into the old-fashioned restaurant.

The smell of cheese and sauce, Italian herbs and meatballs made his mouth water and his stomach cramp with hunger. He'd been going for so long now that he hadn't stopped to really _live_, and the pizza was reminding him. The pizza was like Kate's waffles and syrup - completely frivolous, empty calories - but so much _fun_.

Something of that perpetual unease shifted in his chest and he caught a deeper breath, felt the butter and garlic fill up his lungs.

It wasn't the regimen or the training he was used to, it wasn't the strict diet that always conditioned him - it was pizza and the warmth of the ovens and the knowledge that his wife was safe in their new home, surrounded by a dozen guys from the NYPD.

The knowledge that he could stop and take a moment to actually be present, here and now, in this new life they were carving out for themselves.

No matter who was out there, no matter the messiness of the last six months or the responsibilities of the job waiting for him, no matter that Bracken was an unknown entity, that his father was somewhere beyond Castle's reach-

Tonight he had a house: a dog getting underfoot and barking at the police officers stomping through her territory, a satellite television that the boys were trying to hook up, a box spring and mattress that Esposito had sarcastically refused to touch, and most importantly-

a wife.

Kate was there. And he wanted to get home to her, start really living.

* * *

The boys burst into laughter and she rolled her eyes, punched Esposito hard on the shoulder.

"None of your business," she muttered.

LT was even chuckling, and they almost never got a reaction out of him. Beckett shoulder bumped Ryan and nodded for the kitchen; he followed her out of the living room while the rest of the guys from the 12th kept at the effort.

"You don't think they'll actually get porn, do you?" Ryan asked.

She shook her head at him. "Ryan."

"Yeah, yeah, no. Probably not."

"Castle got the satellite routed through the Office; I really doubt there's porn."

"No way. They can _do_ that?"

She smirked and shrugged at him, moved to a box sitting on the kitchen counter. "Sort of. It's more complicated than that, but it goes through a company. That way our names aren't on it. That's how we hooked up the utilities too."

Ryan blinked at her and she gestured towards the boxes.

"Help me find paper plates and stuff. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," he murmured, reaching automatically for a box.

She bit her bottom lip at the look on his face and sorted through the stuff piled up. She hadn't packed any of the kitchen stuff because it was mostly brand new or things from Castle's old place; hers were incinerated in the bomb. Castle hadn't wanted either of them to go back to his apartment, so he'd sent a team to do it. Who knew what she'd find.

"Ryan, you okay with this?" she asked finally.

He jerked his head up and his eyes were still far away with wonder. "Okay with what? Mom and Dad shacking up?"

She huffed, a laugh on her breath. "Mom and Dad?"

"Esposito started it."

"Uh-huh. You do know we're married, right?"

"Like. . .really married? Or cover married? Or like, married in secret spy land?"

She lifted an eyebrow, but he wasn't backing down. She realized it was probably his way of vetting the whole thing, protecting her. And it was sweet; they were her boys.

"Filed with the city of New York about three months back, Kev. It's real."

"Huh."

"What else you need to know?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest so they could get on with it. "I'm not supposed to give out details - clearance is above your head - but I'll tell you guys some."

Ryan tossed her a sour look for her teasing and shrugged, pulled out a stack of paper cups in plastic. She took them from him and set them aside, but he kept going through the box.

And then it came out. "He's for real, though? This is real to him."

"This is real to _us_," she said quietly.

Ryan lifted his head to meet her gaze and studied her for a moment, then he nodded. "Let's find those paper plates."

She gave a little breath and glanced down, only to hear a phone ring nearby. A ringtone that seemed familiar.

She frowned and hunted among the boxes, realized it was coming from the dining room just off the open kitchen. She could still see the guys from the 12th working on the television and the entertainment center that Castle had bought, but none of them were reaching for their phones.

And then she saw it on the dining room table, just beside a stack of boxes.

Castle had left his cell phone.

She picked it up and checked the ID.

_Blocked number._

Shit. Should she answer it? Maybe it was something to do with the satellite? He'd said they were supposed to have installed it earlier this afternoon but maybe that was why the boys couldn't get it to work.

She had to unlock the phone to answer it - his iphone model was Siri-less, which always made her feel so incognito, and the settings were different, jail broken by the CIA. He could require the passcode for every action; the phone was Fort Knox.

"Hello?" she answered, breathless. If this was some kind of mission. . .but maybe he'd just called his own phone from the pizza place to see where it was.

"Who is this?" a voice growled.

She debated answering for a long moment.

"Answer me. Who are you and why are you on this line?"

Oh, oh, she knew that voice. Fuck. His _boss._ "Sir. This is Detec - ah, Kate Beckett."

"Oh. Beckett. Yes. Beckett from the NYPD's 12th Precinct. You've been working with Richard. I see spousal privilege extends quite far."

"I apologize for answering. I was afraid it was important."

"And Richard isn't there to answer it? You have him tied up, I suppose."

She choked and her eyes widened, and then she heard the bark of laughter on the other end.

"Forgive me, Beckett. I meant - ah, in the way of your new home."

She froze, her fingers gripping the phone. Castle had said he kept this information purposefully away from the CIA.

"Don't worry," the Director said softly. "My eyes only. Some things have to be approved somewhere. Your husband and I go way back."

She just hoped the Director didn't also go _way back_ with Agent Black. "Yes, sir. I - suppose you could say he's tied up. Yes. I shouldn't have answered his phone-"

"Actually, I'm pleased you did. I haven't been getting through to him."

"Oh?" She blinked and half-turned back to the kitchen, her eyes sightless. Castle hadn't been taking phone calls from the Director of the CIA? _Why?_

"Well, please pass along the message that I hope he deigns to call me back."

"Of course. Yes," she said quickly.

"Have a pleasant evening, Detective Beckett. I've heard rumors that you're to consult with us. I hope to see you in a few weeks' time."

And then the man hung up before she could deny the rumors.

Or confirm.

She still didn't know which.

* * *

When Castle pulled up to their street, he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. The lights were on in deference to the darkness of the evening, and he could almost hear the loud, unruly crowd in their living room right now. The day had gone well, their home was in sight, and he was letting himself come down from that adrenaline-fueled hyper-awareness that had wound him tightly for months.

He grabbed the pizzas from the back seat and slammed the door shut; he'd taken the Range Rover when he'd left the CIA because the GPS was deactivated, initially the safest vehicle for him. He had to trust that it would service for now. Because he was both Rick Rodgers, a UN lackey, and Richard Castle, a CIA agent on leave - and while only a few knew that one was a cover, he still found that the line was so easy to blur.

He wasn't going to let Kate be the cover; it wouldn't happen to them. She'd always known the heart of him, but he was fighting his instincts on this to keep her informed. He'd have to tell her about the vehicles, have to let her know it was important that she switch cars.

With that in mind, Castle unlocked the front door and shut it after him, dropped the key to the entryway table. Her idea, that table. Dark wood, two doors in a faintly Oriental design, and sometime while he'd been gone, she'd placed one of her elephant statues on it. He grinned to himself at the little touch she'd already added and slipped the keyring over the elephant's upraised trunk, let it dangle there.

"Rick?"

He carried the pizzas towards the sound of her voice, saw her standing in the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, her hands propped in the doorframe. She was gorgeous - hair pulled back with the loose strands curling at her cheeks, her trademark white t-shirt giving him just a hint of cleavage, jeans hugging her hips and elongating her legs.

"Hey there," she murmured, taking the pizzas from him with a concerned look on her face. "Took you long enough; we're starving." She hesitated and her eyebrows knit. "You left your phone here."

"Oh, oops." But something in her voice made him study her. "Sorry. Did you try to call me?"

A breath released. "Yeah," she shrugged. "I did."

He frowned but she was already turning around, heading back for the kitchen. He followed her and saw that all of the guys were still there, awaiting the promised dinner. Esposito gave him a short head nod - their bad blood had somewhat settled out since the man had punched him - but Ryan stood and gave him a handshake.

"Hey, man, thanks for getting pizza."

"No problem. Thanks for helping us move." He hadn't trusted moving companies; he hadn't wanted anyone to know where he and Kate had moved to, hadn't wanted to expose them like that. The guys from the 12th had done all the heavy lifting and they'd borrowed a van from the Office.

"No sweat. Or actually, a lot of sweat. Hey, Beckett-" Ryan turned and headed for the fridge. "The water cold yet?"

"I stuck it in an hour ago. Should be."

Castle watched her hand out paper plates to the guys, taking their teasing good-naturedly, smiling at them, teasing back. Ryan passed out bottles of water and Esposito started opening pizza boxes. Even the dog was in on the fun, threading through people's legs and snapping fallen bites from the floor. The team attacked dinner, and Castle stood back, simply observed.

Suddenly Kate was standing in front of him, pressing her hips to his. "Hey, there. Why so quiet?"

He gave her a smile, slid his hands into the back pockets of her jeans to keep her close. "Just watching. Afraid they might snap my hand off if I tried to get in there."

She grinned and rolled her hips against his, then she was gone, slipping out of his grasp to grab another paper plate. He took the one she was offering and got into line behind her, snagged a piece of meat lovers for himself. She dropped a slice of pineapple and ham onto his plate as well as her own, smirking.

"Just try it."

And he would. For her.

Waffles and syrup, right?

* * *

When the boys had left, Kate made Castle take her through the security system, step by step until she had it memorized and could arm and disarm each section. They sat on the floor in the upstairs hallway, their backs to the wall, Sasha with her head on Castle's thigh, and Kate tapped out the clearance code on her phone.

The panel just across the hall blinked green, meaning it was armed, and Kate grinned at him. The dog's tail wagged.

"You're a pro," Castle murmured, nudging his knee into hers.

She hadn't brought up the fact that the Director had called, and she wasn't sure she should. If he was avoiding the man, then he could say in all honesty that his wife hadn't passed along the message.

If he was avoiding the Director, what did that mean? He didn't want to be in the CIA? He was hoping to get out of it? She just didn't know.

Kate tapped in the code once more, and the light flashed orange, the security system disabled again. "Windows, motion sensors, anything else?"

"Panic room," he said in a dry rumble, suddenly getting to his feet. He held his hand out for her and she took it, let him haul her up. She grinned at his too-serious look, pressed a kiss to his jaw, teeth scraping.

"Panic room?" she nudged. Sasha nosed between them, and Kate lowered her hand to comb through the dog's fur.

He skated his fingers down the inside of her arm and laced their fingers together, drew her away from the dog. "Downstairs. Last stop."

She followed him down the hall and took the stairs two at a time, their hands clasped, dog at their heels. The furniture wasn't exactly as she wanted it, they still had boxes piled in every room, but it was already their home. The narrow windows were capped with stained glass at the top in geometric designs; the dark wood and the blue walls echoed serenity.

Kate stepped onto the first floor with Castle, the black night outside not able to pierce the warmth of their living room. They had lamps blazing and the kitchen light was on as well; he took her across the tile floor, around the breakfast nook to the basement door.

Sasha went to her bowl and lapped at the water, nudged her nose at the empty food dish. Castle paused, but Kate tugged him forward.

"Panic room?" she asked. Last she'd known, it was a long flight down to a cellar.

"Yeah," he nodded and opened the door. The dog pushed past them and went on ahead into the darkness. Kate reached in and flipped on the lights, led the way down the rickety stairs.

Not rickety anymore. "When did you do all this?"

"Over the last few months," he said quietly. "While you were working out everything with the NYPD."

She wriggled her fingers in his as they went down the stairs and when they got to the dusty cement floor, she realized it'd been cleaned and redone. The far wall had come in about five feet and it was solid metal. Castle was smirking in the bare bulb, already pulling her towards the door.

"Code to enter is your badge number," he remarked. "But we need to change that."

She nodded. "Too easy. I'll think of something."

"Right." He punched in the code on the touch panel and the door hissed as the lock released. She reached out and the door was lighter than she expected; it opened easily.

The room was five by eight, the length of the cellar below their house. A double-wide cot was set up in one corner, but a whole arsenal took up the far wall. Kate choked on a laugh and turned to Castle, untangling their fingers to cup his cheek.

"Sweetheart, this is. . .extreme."

"Better safe than sorry."

She stepped inside first, knowing somehow that he needed it as a symbolic gesture that she was in this no matter what. That even a panic room outfitted with AK-47s and Desert Eagles and - jeez, throwing stars? - couldn't drive her away.

"Any food in here?" she murmured.

"Yeah, look." He moved past her and opened a trunk at the base of the cot, displaying a range of freeze-dried army kits. Not especially tasty, but it would work. She moved around him in the small space and trailed her fingers over the wall. Sasha had come in after them and bounded up onto the cot, settling down easily.

"What else?"

Castle sank down on the bed with Sasha, scraped his fingers through the fringe of reddish fur. "We can control security through here. There are a few measures we can take to defend the room."

"What do you envision for this?" she said softly, her fingers playing over a selection of knives. "What do you see happening?"

"If someone comes for my family-" He shrugged.

She lifted her head, couldn't help the image that crowded her in this small space: their family pressed shoulder to shoulder on the cot, the dog keeping the little ones calm, withstanding the storm outside. Having to make sure no one touched anything. Jeez.

That she could imagine their kids inside this room was both horrific and reassuring at the same time. That the picture was so real, so firm in her mind, meant something for them that she couldn't understand.

Kate moved towards him, stepping between his knees and hooking her arms around his neck. He lifted his head then and she saw the fierceness in his eyes, the way he was willing to defend them.

"You promise you're in here with us?" she murmured. She ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, cradled his head. "You promise you're inside this room when the door shuts?"

"I'm inside this room," he said solemnly. "I promise you, Kate."

She leaned in to kiss him, her thumbs stroking his cheeks, his lips satin and willing and warm. He wrapped his arms around her and tugged; she fell into him, put her knees to either side of his hips and sank down on his lap.

Castle groaned into her mouth, hands clutching her waist. "Kate," he panted.

"I like it when you promise me things," she murmured, rolling her hips into him.

His hands snaked up her thighs and lifted her shirt, pulled it up and over her head. She grinned and tossed her hair out of the way, sealed her mouth over his in a promise of her own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Close Encounters 7**

* * *

Castle stroked his fingers down Kate's bare back with a shaky hand, his eyes on the panic room's metal ceiling even as his body came down slowly. When they'd shut the door, the alarm system had kicked on; he could see on the security panel that the house was secure. Sasha had loped back up the stairs at some point before they'd closed up the room, and Castle could see now on the monitors that the dog was lying down at her post before the front door, as usual.

And Kate was draped over him, naked and asleep.

Castle had found sleep nearly impossible these last few months, never knowing what might come out of the darkness. But with her warm body sealed against his, the room secure from nothing short of armageddon, he felt his alertness, his awareness, begin to fall apart.

He dozed.

Castle jerked back to awareness suddenly, heart thrashing in his chest like an animal in a trap.

He must have passed out. Drifted off. Something.

He hadn't slept in days, almost a week now, and it was hitting him hard, dragging him under with a ruthlessness he finally felt safe enough to give in to. Castle curled his fingers at her shoulder, pressed his cheek to the top of her head, and he let his eyes close on a breath.

As it always did these days, his body gave up and sleep betrayed him.

First was the darkness and the smell of bleach. Stainless steel. Linoleum. He opened his eyes and saw the burning red exit sign. Horror had a chokehold on his throat, but he pushed through the empty kitchen towards that exit, his lungs burning with his sprinting steps, slammed into the door.

All over again. The alley, Kate on her knees, and - every time - Castle opened the exit door a moment too late.

Kate on her knees. The explosion of the gunshot. Her body rocking forward.

He felt the splatter of her grey matter across his face, tasted her blood with his strangled scream.

He woke violently in the blue light of the panic room, ripped from the dream by Kate's hands caressing his face, her body over his and holding him down.

"Castle, sweetheart, oh, Rick, come on. Wake up, it's okay. It's okay."

Weeping. He was weeping. Fuck, everything was raw.

"It's okay, it's okay," she promised, cradling his body with her hands, her knees, pressed over him and warm, living. "It's okay, love."

"Kate," he rasped. Hoarse.

She breathed into him, her forehead touching his, and he gulped in air, drew his arms up around her. He knew he was bruising her; he couldn't stop.

"God," he groaned, swallowing hard and staring up into her eyes. She was alive. She was alive; he hadn't been too late.

"You can't go on like this," she murmured. Her lashes brushed his, her fingers curled at his ears, and she shifted to lie down at his side. "Rick, you can't keep this up. . ."

He could finally loosen his hold on her, and she stroked her fingers through his hair, came back to his ears in soft, soothing touches that had his breathing evening out once more. She was crying too, he saw.

They were both crying.

"Rick," she pleaded.

He knew what she meant. He'd been avoiding this conversation for the last three months, certain he wouldn't like whatever it was she had to say, knowing he'd disappointed her in this.

He hadn't quit the CIA. In fact, once his father had disappeared, he'd been promoted up the ranks, given the job in charge of Eastern European Operations with the special benefit of being stationed in New York.

They'd bought a home now that he was making so much more money; they'd kept it secure and off the radar as much as possible. They were still in the city, they were still on track to the new life they both wanted, but now he was doing it from inside the CIA.

Castle had thought it was just too ideal to pass up. Especially now that they were on tenuous terms with Bracken, especially now that his own father was nowhere to be found. Black had slipped Castle's careful surveillance only two weeks after his official retirement; he had yet to resurface. No one could find him; the Director had merely laughed it off and said the man deserved retirement in peace.

But it made Castle nervous. Not knowing where, just knowing that there was no way Black was gone for good. A man like that wouldn't bow out gracefully, wouldn't take kindly to being blackmailed. Staying inside the CIA meant that Castle had access and resources, not just to find his father and keep him under control, but also to deal with Bracken.

He had tried to break free - he was still trying - but their new life together had taken an angle he had never intended.

But she was right. He and Kate had to talk about this before it buried them alive.

* * *

She sat on the edge of the cot and shrugged her shirt on, scraped her hair back from her face and twisted it over one shoulder to keep it from getting into her eyes. She watched Castle button his jeans as he stood near the monitors, and she realized she hadn't seen him so calm in months.

Finally.

His body was riddled with tension for the talk they knew they needed to have, but even still. Even now. He looked more at ease. He looked deeply peaceful in a way she hadn't been able to bring back to him since his father had gone missing from the hospital.

"Rick," she said quietly.

He turned, his bare chest rippling under the soft blue light. His eyes were clouded with fatigue and worry and such hopeless love that it made her heart squeeze too tightly, like she might choke on it.

"Hey, come here," she whispered, reaching a hand out to him. She was only in her shirt and underwear and he was only in his jeans, but he padded silently to the cot and sat down beside her, obedient and waiting.

Kate lifted her fingers to his cheek and caressed the stubble that burned her skin, her inner thighs tingling even as she touched.

"I love you," she said firmly. "I just don't love your job."

"I know." He bowed his head.

"I - hate your job," she admitted with a sigh. "I'm sorry. I hate what it does to you. To me. To us."

He lifted his head and stared at her, mournful and in despair and practically unreachable to her. "And you want me to hate it too," he said quietly.

"_Yes_," she pleaded. She caught hold of herself, just barely reined it in, and tilted her head back to keep from spilling tears over this. "Yes. But I know. . .I know you love it."

"Kate."

She had to look at him, for his sake. She had to. She had to prove that she was in this, that she was still doing this with him. She dropped her head and met his eyes, curled her hand at the back of his neck.

"I love you more," he said.

She pressed her lips together. Should she tell him about the Director? She didn't want to be this person, to do this to him. She had never wanted it. "I just want you," she said finally. "And if you need this to feel. . .safe. If you need this to be sure, to keep in control of things and to. . .shit, I don't know - to save the world, Castle. Then okay. Okay."

"You're disappointed in me," he said quietly.

"No," she insisted, shaking her head. "Not at all. Castle. I'm so damn proud of you. Of how you've made yourself into this _good_ and wonderful man. Despite everything. Look at what you've done."

She cupped his cheeks and leaned in, kissed him softly, reverently, let him feel the way he made her tremble. Not because she wanted him, not because he was touching her, but just because he was so -

"You're extraordinary," she whispered into his mouth.

He wrapped his arms around her and clutched her close to his chest; she closed her eyes with the force of his relief, his want, and wished she'd made him have this conversation months ago. She hadn't known he'd felt so much like a failure when it came to her.

"You're a good man," she repeated. She didn't know if he believed it yet. "We can do this. We can; I promise."

"The CIA - I know you want me to-"

She shook her head against his neck and squeezed him harder. "No, baby. You still don't understand. I love _you_. Not because of the CIA. Not to get me back into the NYPD. Not because of this city or this house or even the dog. I love you."

His arms were suddenly gentler, cradling rather than crushing, and his lips skimmed her temple. "I love you too, Kate. I just want to make it good. Safe. For our family."

She nodded, closed her eyes against the tears. "Soon," she answered. "Soon. But first - this. Whatever we have to do." Even the CIA. Even that.

"Yes," he rasped out, his fingers coming to tangle in the hair still bundled at her neck. "A little more time. We'll get them both - Black and Bracken. And then we can-"

"We can," she promised. Kate pulled back to let him see how determined she was, how certain. She ran her hands down his chest and back up again, settled her palms at his shoulders. "We will. But you can't. Rick. You can't keep going on like this."

He dropped his forehead to hers and she saw him close his eyes. She knew he just. . .he just wanted them safe. To keep her alive, to safeguard their _someday. _She knew that. But it couldn't be at the cost of his sanity.

She feathered her fingers at the sides of his neck, felt the strong cords of tension. "If it means we spend every night of the foreseeable future sleeping in the panic room, Castle, I will do that."

He huffed out a breath along her cheek and she smiled, watched him slowly open his eyes to her. She nudged his nose to find his mouth, kissed him soft and sweet until she felt him melt a little more.

"Might buy us a better bed though," she said. "The cot's nice. But it won't survive another round like that."

He laughed then, a puff of air and a strangled noise but still a laugh.

"You have to get a full night's rest," she said firmly. "Even if it means you have nightmares, you have to sleep."

"Kate-"

She shook her head and straightened up in his embrace. "You know you won't do either of us any good if you're so tired that you're dropping the ball. You make mistakes."

He winced and rubbed a hand down his face. "Like leaving my phone here."

She nodded slowly and saw the truth of it hitting him. The Director. But he needed time. He needed time, and she wasn't going to add another layer of misery or failure to his load.

"Okay," he said, his jaw working. "You're right."

She let out her breath and ignored the voice telling her she should talk to him. "We'll sleep down here," she said again. "I'm serious, love. If this is the one place you feel safe enough to let go - and it obviously is, you passed out on me-"

He grunted and his hands were suddenly hot over her skin, sliding up her shirt. "I leave you hanging?"

"It's okay," she murmured, stilling his touch. "I got what I wanted."

She knew it wasn't the answer _he _wanted, but he laced his fingers at her back and nodded, like he finally got it. Sex? That was what convinced him he needed to slow down, that he needed to sleep?

Fine. If that's what it took.

"I'm serious," she said then, tracing the edge of his jaw with her fingernails. "You've got to replace this cot."

He gave a better laugh at that, and she knew then they'd work through it.

He just needed some sleep.

* * *

Castle opened the door with her badge number - they needed to change that soon - and the dog came bounding inside, happy to see them again, tail wagging. Kate pushed past them both to get to the stairs and he watched her mount them efficiently, heading for the kitchen.

He paused on the bottom step and couldn't bring himself to follow. The dog butted her head into his thigh and he reached back, stroked between Sasha's ears. The soft fur and the rhythmic movement soothed him, and then Kate was at the doorway, glancing back at him.

"You coming up?" she called down.

"You getting us food?"

"And the dog food," she nodded.

"You need help?"

She tilted her head and laughed. "Stay down there then, lazy bones." She disappeared from view and he scratched at Sasha's head, wondered what his deal was, why he was so reluctant to go up there.

The house was secure. The alarm had been set from her phone app inside the panic room door, but he felt drawn to the closeness of the small space, the absolute security. He didn't think it was fear - the nightmares were one thing - but if it wasn't fear, then he didn't know what it was.

Kate was suddenly coming back down the stairs and he saw she'd brought a whole bag of stuff with her. "Sasha, food upstairs," she called. "Go get it, puppy."

Sasha pulled away from his fingers and headed up towards her, seemed to understand what she'd said as she pushed past Kate and moved for the open kitchen door. Castle took the bag from her and pulled out a bottle of water, twisted open the cap.

"Thanks," he murmured.

"Midnight snack," she grinned. "Now that you're awake."

"And now that I'm awake, I got plans for you. Finish what I started." He wriggled his eyebrows at her and she shook her head on a laugh.

"Eat first. I got plans for you too." She tossed him a banana from the bag and leaned in, kissed his bare shoulder as she passed.

When he turned to follow her back into the panic room, a measure of ease came over him that couldn't be ignored.

She was playing along, letting him be neurotic and controlling, but he knew he'd reach a breaking point with her. Sooner or later, she'd want to push past this and get him help - Dr King, probably.

But he could do this; he needed a few days to really sleep, to let his guard down, and he'd be good to go again.

He could be good for her.

"Rick," she called.

He snapped back to the present and stepped inside the room.

"Shut the door," she murmured and gave him a long, slow smile that made his body light up.

* * *

He sat against the army trunk at the foot of the cot and popped another grape into his mouth. She'd chosen healthy stuff - his kind of food - and he had to admit, it was a comfort. Back to his old routines, the ones that he knew worked. Filling his body with stuff that made him stronger.

Kate stood in front of the wall of weapons, his arsenal, and touched everything, swapping stories with him about the various guns or knives she'd used before. Or had used on her.

"This one," she laughed. "I know this one."

He shrugged and sucked the juice from the grape, swallowed it. "Yeah?"

"A bunch of punks in Chinatown had these. Acted like a street gang, pretty heavy posers."

"Name?"

"Foon-Foon."

He laughed and lifted his eyebrow at her, pushed another grape between his teeth. "You serious? Foon-Foon."

"Yeah, from my time in Vice. They all had older brothers in the Flying Dragons. Anyway, they loved this gun; they all had one."

He chewed on the grape and she came back to him, stroked her fingers through her hair even as she sat down on the army trunk near his head. He leaned against her thigh, his cheek pressed tightly to the warmth of her jeans, smelling the concrete and sweat of their night in her clothes.

"The NYPD-" he started.

But she gripped his ear and shook him a little. "Not talking about that right now, love."

"We're not?" He dug his chin into her knee and looked at her. "Thought this was the time to talk."

"Don't get me wrong, we still have stuff to sort through. But in it's own time, Castle."

"So that's a no on coming back to the CIA with me?" he murmured.

She sighed and her fingers tripped along his neck, rubbed down to his shoulder and beneath the cotton of his tshirt. "I'm not saying that. We have two more weeks before I have to let them know."

He sighed and pressed his lips to her wrist, closed his eyes. She was right. He didn't want to have this conversation right now.

"Rick, don't get me wrong. I want a new life for us. I do. I just want to be able to live with myself when we get there."

He opened his eyes and lifted his chin to look at her; she seemed so regretful, so remorseful, like she had a weight of guilt on her shoulders because of him.

"I want you to be able to live with yourself - but I want you to be able to live with me too."

She closed her eyes with a stuttering breath and shook her head. "No. That's not what I meant."

He sat up straighter, pulling away from her hand, his elbows on his knees. "This is who I am, Kate. I'm a brutal man-"

Her hands were suddenly skating down his chest, her mouth on his jaw, his cheek, moving to his lips. He reached back and caught her behind her neck; she shifted off the trunk and down into his lap in a moment.

"You're not," she insisted. "You're not a brutal man. You manage to do this so well, Rick; you haven't let all the shades of grey corrupt you. You keep pushing for what's right."

"If that's true at all," he sighed. "Then it's because of you."

She shook her head and gripped his shoulders. "Castle," she sighed.

"You're the strongest woman I know," he muttered, brushing his fingers over her cheeks. "Kate, you're exactly what the CIA could use. Someone who doesn't back down, who makes us do the right thing. Who will not compromise."

"I don't know that I can," she whispered and bowed forward into his chest.

"Okay," he said quietly, putting his palm to the back of her neck, nuzzling close. He wondered if it was because she couldn't associate with the organization his _father_ held in such lofty esteem. The man who'd tried to murder her. He shivered and drew her closer. "Okay. I get it. I understand. We've got two weeks. I won't push you anymore."

She shook her head against him. "Pushing me is good," she said into his skin. "I need to be pushed."

"Don't want to break you, love," he murmured, stroking his hand down her neck. "Two weeks."

She nodded then, slumping into his body.

He wasn't the only one who needed help. Two weeks and they both would go see Dr King.

* * *

He'd finally fallen asleep.

She was serious about staying down here for as long as he needed it. He'd made modifications to their bedroom too, she knew - reinforced doors, easily defensible, a quit exit down to the street - but the panic room sealed up tight and allowed no chance for error.

Kate shifted away from him slowly, but the cot was a narrow fit and she didn't have far to go. He was putting out heat like a radiator, and she hadn't figured out the thermostat yet, but she didn't try to get up. She was afraid he'd wake.

He was on his back, his face finally smoothed by sleep, the lines erased. One hand was against his chest, the other curled at her shoulder, and she lifted up on one elbow to study him.

Deeply asleep now, thank goodness, and an ease to his body that had been missing for a while now. When they'd found this townhouse only six weeks ago, something hard in him had let go, as if he'd needed to be settled, needed it permanent in order for him to truly believe it.

She stroked her fingers lightly over his forearm, the warm skin and the soft brush of hair. She couldn't help leaning in and kissing his wrist, laying her head down against his chest once more. Listening to his heart. It'd been a long time since she'd been awake when he was not, a longer time since she'd felt easy enough herself to let it all break down, fall apart. She closed her eyes to keep back the press of tears; it'd only be relief anyway, and she wasn't going to waste any more time on something that hadn't happened.

She was alive. He was alive. They were together.

It'd been so. . .strange between them the past few months, like they were moving towards opposite goals, like they weren't even understanding each other any more. Kate had been working on getting reinstated with the NYPD, and he'd been clearing things up at the CIA so he could take over the job here in New York. She'd thought being in charge of operations for Eastern Europe might actually put him at ease, and it had seemed to - at first. But the last few weeks, details of the move and probably his fear over keeping it quiet had thrummed tension so tightly in him that nothing had been good enough.

She hadn't been good enough.

Kate closed her eyes tighter and pushed it away, all of it. Tension and fear and all the near-misses they'd had these last few months had made them both edgy and tentative. She was ready to get back to them, to how good it was, and today had been the first time in weeks that she felt like that was possible.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him _sleep_.

But they were getting there; they were finding their way again.

The wedding reception was in eight days, a nice family thing at her father's cabin in upstate New York, and then a few days at a place nearby, just the two of them, a chance to reestablish their connection, grow stronger before they went back to work.

Kate heard the change in the rhythm of his heart and lifted her head, felt the dampness at the corner of her eyes. He was moving now, shifting awake, and she pressed her body into his in the hopes that he'd feel her and fall back asleep instead.

She swiped at her eyes when he stirred again, discreetly dried her cheeks. She hadn't been crying, not really, and she didn't want him to think she had.

"Hey," he rumbled, his eyes flickering open.

And then he smiled at her, and everything seemed to slide back into place.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Sorry," he sighed out, and his eyes slid shut once more. "Tired."

"Sleep, love," she murmured back, stroking her fingers over his forearm once more. "I want you to sleep."

And he was gone again, just like that.

Kate watched him for a long time, and then she laid her head down against his chest and tried to breathe past the knot in her throat.

* * *

She woke before him and slowly withdrew from the circle of his arms, slipped out of the cot and to the warm tile floor. She lifted her arms and combed her fingers through her hair, caught it up at her neck and shook the pony tail to cool herself off.

Beckett found the thermostat controls and kicked on the air conditioning, licked her lips in the sudden gust of cool air. She shivered and found Castle's tshirt, shrugged it on. She moved for the door, but hesitated at the control panel.

She was afraid of leaving him here alone. She was afraid of what would happen if she wasn't here to ease him down after one of his dreams.

Kate glanced back to him and her stomach growled once more, letting her know. She'd eaten an apple and a handful of grapes, a slice of pizza earlier tonight, and she didn't even know if they had food in the house.

She didn't even know what _time_ it was. It could be nine in the morning for all she knew (though it felt like two or three). Kate padded back to the cot and leaned over him, didn't know how that might help at all, but she felt better seeing how deeply he slept.

She pivoted on her heel and punched in the code, let the door slide open to the panic room. She took a deep breath of cellar air - a little bit of mold, some sawdust, wood - and hurried up the stairs. She nudged open the kitchen door and the dog was there, struggling up from the floor, still half-asleep.

"Hey, Sasha," she murmured, hunching over to rub the dog's fur. Sasha woofed low in her throat and licked her hand. "Hush, honey. Hush."

Sasha hung her head and followed at Kate's heel as she moved for fridge. No leftover pizza, but she snagged a water bottle. The door slammed shut on her and she jumped, biting her bottom lip, listening intently towards the cellar.

She turned to the pantry and opened it, but there was nothing at all. No bread, no crackers, not even any cans of food. She tried to remember if there'd been anything in their pantry at her apartment, but it'd been a few weeks since they'd had the time to cook.

She was starving.

Kate glanced to the clock on the stove, but they hadn't set it yet. She sighed and left the water on the counter and wished she'd thought to look at her phone before she'd left the panic room. She headed for the living room searching for a clock.

If this were any other day, any other time, she'd run out and get something from the market at the corner. Or find a twenty-four hour Chinese place.

Kate groaned. She could really go for some lo mein. Steamed vegetables. Shit. Now her mouth was watering and heading back down into that cellar was entirely unappealing.

But if he woke and she wasn't there-

Sasha whined and nudged her hip; Kate thoughtlessly stroked the girl's fur, standing in the middle of her living room.

Was it even safe to run out in the middle of the night? Black was nowhere to be found, and she didn't trust - for a moment - that Castle's father had truly left them in peace. Bracken - she could handle Bracken. She'd seen the furious impotency in his eyes; she had him by the balls.

Sasha's head lifted and her body turned away from Kate, her ears alert. Kate sucked in a breath and turned as well, saw that the dog had oriented to the cellar door.

Kate took off at a run, tried not to fall down the stairs as she took them two at a time. Her heart was pounding, her mouth dry, and the damn dog was tangling her up.

She stumbled down the last two steps, cracked her knee into the floor, and struggled up. She swung through the open door to the panic room and halted, breathless, inside.

He was asleep. It was fine.

He was still asleep.

Fuck.

They were - separately - falling apart.

It had to change.


	3. Chapter 3

**Close Encounters 7**

* * *

He startled awake on a shout and everything dissolved. Kate was on her knees beside the cot and her hand was at his chest, soothing and soft, and he blinked into awareness quickly.

"Kate," he rasped.

"I'm here," she said, and he felt her forehead drop to his hip. Castle reached up and tangled his fingers with hers over his chest. She let out a long breath and he turned slowly onto his side, dislodging her.

She lifted her head and looked at him, something dark in her eyes. "Time's it?"

"I don't know," she said.

He didn't like the way she looked. Something wrong. "What's going on?"

She shook her head.

"Kate," he said, clearing his throat. "Was I dreaming?"

She nodded.

"Sorry."

She shrugged and avoided his eyes. "It's not your fault. I just wish you could get one good night's sleep. Just one. I think it would help."

He nodded and struggled to sit up. "I don't remember the dream," he said, even though he knew it didn't help. "You okay? Did I wake you?"

She shook her head. "I was up."

Still, something was broken where it hadn't been before.

He put his feet to the floor and reached out to stroke his fingers through her hair, cup her cheek in his palm. She tilted her head into his touch and he felt it then, the dampness of her skin and the grit of salt.

She'd been crying?

"Kate," he whispered.

"I'm okay," she said quickly, her eyes opening, her head lifting again.

He sank down to the floor and wrapped his arms around her, his heart clenching, his grip too fierce. She let out a shaky breath and didn't lie again, just sank into him with her hands fisting at his bare back. He pulled her into his lap and cradled her there, long-limbed and lithe and strong, and she didn't cry, but he knew it was a close thing.

"Kate."

He felt her swallow hard at his neck, and he clutched her tighter.

"What's going on?"

"I don't know," she growled out, her arms like bands around him. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Nothing's wrong with you. Nothing's _wrong_ at all. We've been through some awful stuff, Kate, and you never talk about it. You've got to-"

"Like you talk about it?"

He closed his mouth and gripped her tighter. "I'm - I plan on calling Dr King in the morning," he admitted. "I need to - at the very least - get some sleep again."

"Yes," she breathed out.

"Are you - am I waking you up?" he murmured, nudging her cheek with his nose to get her to look at him. She tightened her arms a moment and then let him go with a sigh. "Kate, I'm keeping you up, aren't I?"

"No, not - you're not keeping me up," she said, shaking her head a little. "I'm just - I'm afraid to leave you. Afraid to get up to go the bathroom or run down the street for bread or-"

"Shit," he groaned. "Kate. You don't - you're not responsible for my sleep." He rubbed at his eyes and sighed. "Having you in bed with me doesn't keep me from having a nightmare. You should feel free to-"

"It's not just that," she muttered.

He paused and looked at her. "What. . .else is it?"

She was chewing on her lip and her arms were curled up at her chest, her stare somewhere between them. "I'm afraid you'll be. . .gone. Afraid I'll wake up on my kitchen floor. Afraid I don't get to keep you. Afraid you'll widow me-"

"Kate," he sighed, wrapping her up in his arms again and drawing her close. "I wish I'd never agreed to that damn plan."

"Me too," she said in a small voice.

Fuck. He'd broken her, hadn't he? All his damn fault.

And then she was shaking him off, standing up, growling as she snagged a hand through her hair and pushed it back. He stared up at her and she reached out for him, her fingers wriggling, a pasted-on smile branding her lips.

"No more of this," she said firmly. "Come on. We're getting out of here."

He took her hand and let her help him up, came swaying to his feet at her side. She nodded firmly and shucked the tshirt off over her head, his tshirt, handed it to him.

"Get dressed. I wanna go get Chinese food."

He took the shirt from her, wordlessly put it on as he stared at her. Chinese food?

"I'm not this person, and neither are you," she said, her eyebrows knitting together. "Shake it off, Castle. We'll call Dr King, and we'll be fine."

She looked like she wanted him to convince her, like her own determination could only take her so far. So he nodded and squeezed her hand, led her out of the panic room and to the stairs. Because she was right; they'd been through enough. He wanted to be done with it.

"Chinese food," he said. "You know an all-night place?"

"No. But we can find one." Her fingers laced through his and she came up at his back, warm and vibrant. "And then we'll do whatever the hell we want to do. Stay up, have sex, watch tv. Or, even better - unpack the boxes in the living room."

"I liked the have sex part of that one."

She laughed and nudged him forward. "Maybe as a reward for unpacking."

"After every box?" he grinned, turning to look at her in the darkness of their kitchen.

She grinned back, her smile wide and beautiful, her eyes so rich and deep and happy again that it made his heart fill. She was amazing - resilient and compassionate and tough.

"I can agree to something _fun_ after every box," she said, her voice sultry and sweet at the same time.

"Deal."

He hadn't broken her. They weren't broken. This was not going to break them.

* * *

She was in flipflops, jeans, a loose tank top. Her hair was a mess and she'd just pulled it back in a sloppy pony tail. She hadn't even found her makeup in all the boxes they still had to unpack, and for some reason, she felt better than she had in weeks.

Maybe it was the lo mein, maybe it was that they were ignoring the rules and eating dinner at three in the morning, or maybe it was just that they'd punched through the last of their fragile reserve with each other.

When a man's father tried to execute you, not a whole lot could be said to make that right. At the same time, not a whole lot was left unknown.

She sat cross-legged in the plastic booth and sucked down another noodle, already filled pleasantly with sweet and sour, Castle across from her as he tore into Peking duck in sweet bean sauce. She snaked her chopsticks to his plate and stole a piece, ate it with relish.

"Mm, good," she remarked.

He nodded. "Yours?"

"Fantastic. Never tasted so good."

He chuckled, eyes lifted to hers. "Know the feeling."

They ate without many words, mostly grunts and lifts of eyebrow, smirks of mouth, the ocassional nudge of hands as chopsticks tangled. She sampled his more exotic menu items and he stole her steamed vegetables in between bites of calamari and duck and fish.

He ate a lot, she was noticing. Had he really been eating at all these last few months? She couldn't remember a time when they'd last sat down like this, couldn't remember planning a meal together, let alone going out.

Yeah, they were done with this. She wasn't going to let Black ruin things for them. He hadn't come between them, and he wasn't going to poison everything _around_ them either. Not anymore than he'd already tainted, already spoiled. She'd fought hard to keep that day in the alley from coloring her world with Castle, and she wasn't going to let the specter of Black's disappearance throw a shadow over it now.

She lifted her leg and pushed her foot across the booth, tucked her toes up under his thigh. He grunted in surprise and gave her a fleeting look, smile and confusion both.

But really, there should be no doubt.

She curled her toes and slid her foot behind his knee, tugged a little. He let out a scolding breath, wrapped his fingers around her ankle. His touch was a brand. They'd always said the best things with sex, and while they'd had to learn ways to compensate for the times they'd been healing or in recovery, she still felt like their connection here, in this, was powerful.

He was shifting to one hip and pulling his wallet from his back pocket to pay the check.

She grinned. "Ready to unpack boxes?"

"Not sure about that. But definitely ready for the fun afterwards."

"Consider it a reward," she murmured.

He put cash down and gestured for her to come; she slipped her foot back into her flipflop and got up from the booth, took his hand in hers.

"Might be a little too full for fun," she admitted, pulling her lip between her teeth.

He laughed. "Yeah, me too. In fact, might have to crash when we get home."

Home.

She stepped in close to him and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. She could already tell. Things were going to be different.

"Let's go home."

* * *

After a few days, they'd moved out of the panic room finally. At least there was that.

Boxes were still piled in the living room like an obstacle course, but Castle had discovered that Kate had a frighteningly good memory, and she knew exactly were to go to find things still packed away. And she'd done their bedroom practically by herself while he was undergoing endurance training at the gym.

The only bad part was how little they actually owned.

Her apartment had been blown up and so many of her things ruined, but she'd salvaged the mementos and he'd found a guy to restore some of the heirloom pieces she had, but there was still so little. The statue of the wings that he'd had shipped from Rome had survived, though they looked liked the angel had gone through hellfire to get there.

Kate had put the wings on the dining room table this time, a table they'd found online and bought just to have something to eat on. The couch was new, though neither of them liked it much, and he'd brought the chair and bed from his old place to help fill the rooms. Most of the bedroom suite from her apartment was intact, and he was glad that at least the master would feel the same.

But he wanted to make it home for her.

So one day a few weeks later, after Castle had spent six hours dividing his time between the nutritionist and the gun range and the sparring floor, he went shopping on the sly. He'd showered in the locker room and his clothes were clean, but he felt completely ridiculous walking inside the boutique store in his black shirt and dark grey army pants.

At least his knife wasn't strapped to his thigh.

He was looking for a wedding present. Or a wedding reception present. Or an official in the state of New York present. Whatever. He wanted a gift for his wife, something she would treasure and attach memories to just like the things she'd managed to pull from the rubble of her apartment.

The store was one he'd researched online beforehand, and it was truly eclectic - a mix of old and new, ultra modern and deeply traditional. The things inside actually reminded him of Kate, had the sense of her, and where he could easily stroll into any designer store in the city and pick a dress with confidence, this kind of shopping seemed subjective and prone to disaster.

She was a mystery, in so many ways, and finding just the right thing that would appeal to her mashed up, quirky, bohemian sensibilities felt impossible.

But she loved her wedding ring, right? She loved it, and he had picked it out alone.

He could do this.

* * *

When his phone rang, Castle hunched his shoulders like a hunted man and tugged the iphone out of his pocket. But Kate was calling.

"Hey, love."

"Oh, Castle, hey. Look, I'm stuck at the 12th."

"Oh. Okay," he murmured.

"I've got a ridiculous amount of paperwork - I'm totally behind - and if I want to get reinstated, I've got to clear this. Me and the boys are gonna camp out here for the night. You okay with that?"

Well, what could he say to that?

"I'm fine, Kate."

He heard rustling on her end and he shuffled to one side to allow a customer to move past him.

"Rick," she was murmuring, her voice low and rich. "I hate for you to be alone tonight."

"I'm fine," he repeated. They'd moved out of the panic room a few days ago; he'd be fine.

"I'll be surrounded by armed police officers, but what about you?" she sighed.

He forced a laugh through his mouth and shook his head. "Sweetheart, you're cute. But I'm fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Do your work."

"Love you, super spy."

"Don't let it get around," he grumbled back, just to hear that spicy laugh on the other end.

She didn't disappoint, but then she'd ended the call and he was alone.

* * *

He went to her father's.

He didn't know what else to do and the thought of sleeping alone in their room with all that house around him, the boxes unpacked and hulking in the darkness. . .

He didn't want to take the backwards step of sleeping in the panic room once more, so he threw some clothes into a bag, clipped the leash on Sasha, and took the Range Rover upstate. Castle didn't even call; he just went.

Jim was opening the cabin door as Castle pulled up the gravel drive; the man wiped his hands on a dish towel and slung it over his shoulder, watched as Castle let Sasha bound out of the vehicle.

"Son," Jim greeted him, grinning and shaking his hand when he mounted the steps. "You alone?"

"Kate had work."

"Glad you came to visit. Been a while."

Castle nodded and bobbed his head, realized he'd just gone running to her father so he wouldn't have to be alone tonight. He was truly messed up.

"Come on in. You can help me make dinner."

* * *

Castle was shucking corn on the kitchen table, his fingers tangled in skeins of hair, and even though the white strands were limp and clinging, and nothing at all like Kate's soft, dark tumble, he was thinking about her.

"Not that I don't enjoy the company, but what exactly pushed you out here, Rick?"

He startled and glanced up at her father. The man was pulping lemons and adding the fruit to a glaze he was making on the stovetop. It smelled sharp and citrusy and exotic, and Caslte knew they'd be having some of the best fish fillets tonight.

"I - uh - I don't know."

"I think you do," Jim said evenly. "But I won't push you. I'm glad you're in my daughter's life, you know? It's been good for her. I can see a difference - a marked difference."

Castle's throat closed up and he stared down at the corn in his hands. There was a difference all right. "Yes, sir."

"She's a happier person. She didn't do a lot of laughing after Johanna died."

"I'm not sure I can claim that," he offered grimly. He heard Jim's bark of laughter and brought bleak eyes back up to the man.

"You are entirely the reason for it. I saw the two of you here at the cabin that spring. After you were stabbed. Even with that. . .Rick. Maybe you don't see it. But I'm her father. I see it."

It burned in him - the need to confess all. Lay it bare. Have the man look at him for what he was rather than some mysterious, romantic secret agent his daughter had dragged in.

"I have to. . ." His throat closed up and he didn't know how to say it. "My father has. . ."

"Kate told me about him," Jim said gravely. He'd stopped stirring the glaze and came now to the kitchen table, sank into a chair. "I'm sorry for that, Rick. You have to know that's not right. No father should be like that."

"I don't think you've heard all of it," he said darkly.

"Is there. . .more?" Jim asked. Castle lifted his gaze but there was no hesitation on the man's face, no reluctance. Just grave concern.

For him. For Castle.

"He tried to shoot Kate."

Jim's face leached of color so fast Castle thought he might hit something.

"I'm sorry," he rasped.

Jim shook his head. "Not your fault." And even though the words were automatic, polite maybe, Castle could see that Jim _meant_ them. Castle didn't deserve to have him mean them.

"The fuck it's not," he growled back, pressing his fisted hands into his eyes. He was doing this badly. So very badly. Cursing at her father? He needed to get control. "It's my fault completely. He tried to execute her and I nearly - I was two seconds from - it almost happened."

He felt the clawed grip of her father on his arm and groaned, kept his face hidden. "Rick, son-"

He shuddered. "I'm so damn sorry. I wish I'd never - she shouldn't be - it's too much. I love her too much to do the right thing and let her go, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but I need her."

"_Rick_."

Castle jerked his head up, felt the man's hands clutching hard on his shoulders, saw his burning concern.

"You leave her, and I will come hunt you down. You hear me?"

He took a ragged breath. "I'm not leaving her."

"Just so we're clear."

He nodded, his head feeling disembodied, too loose, and Jim was the only thing keeping him weighted.

"Son, listen to me."

Every time. Was it merely a way of speaking, or did he mean it? Did he say _son_ and mean it?

"Katie's a police officer. She's faced down some pretty gruesome things, some pretty psychotic people. She was on the trail of a serial murderer for six weeks - about, oh, three years ago? She's a tough woman. She's an adult. And she's found something in you that finally matches her, strength for strength. But more than that. . ."

Castle swallowed hard and struggled to keep a grip on himself.

"More than that, son. . .she's found a partner. Someone who fills in on her weakest parts, someone she can do the same with. Someone who makes her better because of how you two complement each other. Really, what more can a father ask?"

"I can't give her normal," he whispered. "I want to. I want her to have everything, but with me it won't ever be-"

Jim's hand squeezed so tightly that Castle winced and shut his mouth.

"Son. I don't think you heard me. My daughter is a homicide detective. Her mother was murdered when she was only nineteen and it's bent her in ways we still can't yet see. Normal. . .son, normal isn't normal any more. Normal would be restricting Kate, putting fetters on her. She's so much more than normal."

Something in Castle's chest eased at her father's words, set free the beast that had been chewing up his insides. Only he found it wasn't a beast when it was let go, just. . .

love. He just loved her.

Sasha startled him with a head butt against his thigh, and Jim was releasing his shoulders to pet the wolf, stroking long down her back. "What a good beast. Aren't you? Hey there, Sasha. You want out?"

And then Jim was rising from the chair and headed for the door, clicking it open so that the kitchen light spilled outside.

The darkness didn't come in; it couldn't. Opening the door did nothing more than shine a small, warm circle out there. So that they could see their way.

Jim took the dog out and Castle sat at the kitchen table, shaking.

* * *

Kate called at midnight and Castle roused from the guest bed and answered, Sasha whining low in her throat at the movement.

"Hey, sweetheart," she murmured. "I caught a break."

"You calling to check up on me?" he hummed.

"Yeah," she answered.

He sighed but it was good to hear her voice, the throaty way she greeted him. "I went to your dad's."

"Oh?" she laughed. "Well, good. I'm glad. Sasha with you?"

"Uh-huh, and she is so not amused by you waking her."

"She can get over it," Kate shot back.

Castle quirked an eyebrow at the wolf in the darkness and Sasha yawned, put her head on his hip. He ruffled her ears. "How's it going there?"

"We've got maybe another couple hours of this, and then I'll sleep on the couch in here."

"You eat dinner?"

"We ordered pizza."

"Of course," he intoned, sleepy again. "Hey Kate?"

"Yeah?"

"I love your dad."

She laughed again, but it cut off suddenly, a strange hitch that made his heart tumble.

"I love him too. And you, Castle. So the fact that you love him, that you guys are - close. That's just. . .that makes me happy."

He eased back to the mattress and let out a breath. "I told him. What happened."

She was silent for a long time. "I hadn't gotten around to it yet. I didn't know what to say. Or if it was even my place."

"Your place?" he choked. "Why - what would-"

"Castle," she said quietly. "It's your father. Your. . .I don't want to - it's already so tangled."

"It's - yes, fine," he growled. "But Kate, it happened to _you_. He tried to kill you. Whoever and whatever else he is - you're more. You're everything. And-"

"I know," she said calmly. "I know exactly where we stand, Rick Castle. But it's you I'm worried about. It's you, sweetheart. I don't know what this does to you."

He sucked in a deeper breath and closed his eyes, saw the darker darkness swimming behind his lids. "I don't know what it's done to me either."

"I love you, Rick."

"And I love you," he breathed back. He struggled to let the tension seep out of him again, but it was hopeless. He just wanted it to not be so difficult. "Tell me a dirty story to lull me back to sleep."

She laughed, but he heard her moving, heard the quickness of her breath, and _was she really going to-_

"Okay. Once upon a time-"

"Dirty stories do not start like fairy tales."

"All mine do. So hush your mouth and listen. Also?"

"Yeah?" he got out.

"Be quiet. I don't want my Dad to hear you."

He groaned and wiped a hand down his face. "Way to kill the mood."


	4. Chapter 4

**Close Encounters 7**

* * *

Jim was up at five for the fishing, and Castle left him then, a tight squeeze of a hug from her father that did something to the ache in his chest. Made it less.

"Thank you, sir."

"Any time, Rick. You're always welcome here, son."

He nodded and opened the car door for Sasha; Wolf bounded inside and sat in the front seat with her tongue hanging out with that predatory smile she had. Castle turned back to Jim and couldn't help shaking his hand.

"Remember what I said," Jim laughed, slapping his back firmly. "You try to ditch her and I'm coming after you."

"That will never happen."

"I know. Besides. You're mine now too, son."

Castle stared at him as Jim pulled back; the man was grinning, dressed for early morning fishing with his hand still curled protectively over his coffee mug even as he headed towards the cabin.

"Go drag my daughter out of the 12th," Jim called out, nodding as he stepped back up onto the porch.

Castle had no problem doing that.

* * *

When he called, she was home. So he drove straight there without stopping and entered the house with a rush of breath. Sasha jerked out of his loose grip and trailed the leash after her as she ran for the kitchen and, presumably, Kate.

He followed and found her there, looking tired but happy. He leaned in and found her mouth.

Mm, she tasted like sweetened lemons. "Hey there," he murmured into her kiss, smiling as she pulled back and leaned against the kitchen counter. The room was filled with late morning sunlight and he felt at ease for the first time since he'd left.

"Hey. Good drive?"

"Not too bad," he answered. She had a look on her face that meant he hadn't given enough information and he searched for a way to be more thorough. "Just long when I miss you."

"I like you missing me," she said with a pleased smile. Success then. He'd fulfilled whatever quota of information she was looking for that meant he'd shared the right amount.

"You do, huh?"

"All pitiful and needy. And so easy. How long did that take last night when I called? Not even four minutes-"

He huffed a little, but she was right. He'd been on edge and she'd taken him right over. Quickly. "You have a dirty mouth," he whispered, darting in to nip at her ear.

"Oh, hey," she murmured, gasping a little with a laugh. "How was training yesterday? You've been back for a week now."

"Good. Passed the qualifiers."

"Good. So you're back? Just that easy?"

He shrugged. "That easy."

She was stroking the line of his biceps with her fingers and her smile quirked up again. "I like you in training."

"I'm getting the feeling that you, Kate Beckett, just plain _like_ me."

"There is that. But when you're training, you're all rock hard and commanding." She scraped her nails lightly over his arms. "And you sleep like the dead too."

He had to roll his eyes at that, but she was right there too. His nightmares had been subsumed into the rigors of his training schedule, and he supposed that was what had always happened to him before. Whatever issues or traumas he'd faced in the field had been beaten down by his subsequent ready-for-action drills.

"At least I'm not waking you," he shrugged. She shook her head on another smile and lifted on her toes to press her mouth to his.

"Did my dad tell you about the bed and breakfast?"

"Yeah," he said, a grin flickering at the corners of his lips. "Sounds perfect - just what we're looking for."

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. He settled in beside her at the kitchen counter, elbows on the granite, nudging her shoulder with his. She was smoothing her fingers over more paperwork - it looked like health benefits or something for the NYPD.

"It is perfect," she said finally. "And it's really secluded. I couldn't even find it on the map when I did a search."

He grinned wider. "Your dad's a smart guy."

She hummed a little and her cheek came to his arm, a press like she was agreeing with him but wouldn't say it out loud. "I booked it for us."

He unfurled his fingers from the fist he'd been unconsciously making and stroked the edge of her elbow. Curved and strong and warm. They stood hunched over the counter in silence, and then he wrapped his fingers around her arm and leaned in to brush a kiss to her cheek.

"Love you, Kate."

She curled and came into him, her arms at his neck and her mouth finding his for a warm press of lips. She gave a little contented noise and swayed with him in the kitchen like she was dancing to some slow, quiet music.

She still hadn't said whether or not she'd come back to the CIA with him when he started his new job, and though he badly wanted her there, he was more than grateful for the time they had now to just exist. Find a new normal.

Finally her lips trailed his jaw and she sighed. "Love you too."

* * *

Dr King saw them together first, had them answer questions as they sat in deep, modern chairs across from him. The interview was extensive, and Castle realized that both of them were finding it difficult to be blunt about these things. To put words to the state they were in.

Castle's appointment was tomorrow morning, so when King concluded the joint session, Rick had to stand up and leave her there. It felt wrong, and she looked like she was facing a firing squad.

Fuck.

He stood swaying on the carpet, his heart pounding too hard and her eyes on his in good-bye. A stray thought like that - _facing a firid squad_ - and suddenly he was back in that alley, feeling his father's skull crunch under his fist.

"Castle?" she asked, unfolding from the chair and standing to meet him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he got out, shaking his head. This was her session now, and his was tomorrow, and it could wait. He could wait. She was fine; they both needed to do this, no matter how uncomfortable it was.

Her fingers wrapped around his wrist and she came into him, her body pressed to his. He curled an arm up at her back and pressed his nose to her neck and breathed, felt his chest ease marginally.

"I'll be fine," she murmured to him, her thumb pushing into the hard joint of his wrist bones. "You'll be fine. Go make us some fantastic culinary work of art for dinner."

She stepped back, her palm pressed to his chest, her eyes a little haunted but smiling. Dinner. Right. She'd be hungry by the time she got out. He could do that.

"See you at home," he said then, and even though he tried - he couldn't find a smile of his own.

* * *

He scoured the internet on his phone for the most complicated recipe he could find. He'd taken the subway, and even though the connection was slow, it occupied his mind enough to keep him from thinking about all the things that still crowded his nightmares.

He settled on lamb shanks with almond chocolate picada. The recipe asked for the meat to marinade overnight, but only _if possible_ and it looked like it would be fine if he was just a guy with four hours to kill.

He made a note on his phone of the ingredients he'd need: red wine, carrots, onion, leek, garlic, lemon, tomatoes and spices, as well as the lamb shanks. He scanned the next few stops and tried to oreint himself to the city map in his head, recalling a local grocery store on 23rd. He was almost there now, and he'd have to walk through the Flatiron District to get the subway home to Lower Manhattan, but it was worth it.

Maybe he'd just walk the twenty blocks instead. Wear himself out.

In the grocery store, Castle found himself checking for blind spots and doubling back on innocent customers, assuming the worst. He wasn't sure he'd ever stop looking for a tail, but this degree of alertness was ridiculous. The woman squeezing cantaloupes wasn't looking to assassinate him on the sidewalk.

After he'd paid with cash, he set out down Fifth Avenue, letting the crowds be his camoflague and ease his nerves as well. He'd bought a cloth shopping bag inside the grocery store and he carried it over his shoulder to keep his hands free, wondered how Kate was doing with Dr King back in Midtown.

His body was well-conditioned for the walk and he ate up the blocks with ease, the evening sky turning dark purple and dotted with the thin layers of haze. Where Fifth Avenue ran parallel to Union Square the traffic was thick, the pedestrians in a jumble, and he let himself get moved around the sidewalk and then he hustled across the crosswalk right as the light changed.

Washington Square seemed peaceful, if busy, and he skirted the edges of the park to avoid dog-walkers and groups of teenagers out for the summer. It took a few blocks more, but as he was angling for Broome Street finally his mind was on dinner and Kate and all the ways he was almost the man he needed to be. Almost. He was so close.

With his administrative job in New York, he'd have maybe two overseas mission every eight months, four a year at the very most, and he wanted her to come with him. He loved the way she brightened up the whole world with her natural grace and beauty, but he selfishly loved the way she made it better for _him_ when he was out there.

She made it fun.

Their townhouse was sandwiched in between an apartment building and a row of more homes on Broome Street, the narrow balcony and blue door leading into a wealth of space for such a city. He unlocked the door and used his phone to disarm the control pad, locked everything back up again and reset the perimeter alarm.

He put the groceries on the counter and shucked his jacket, which he'd worn to hide his sidearm, and then he removed the weapon from its holster and checked it.

Paranoid. He was. He didn't deny it.

He holstered his gun again, but he took the whole contraption off, left it on the kitchen table where he could access it easily. He rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands, and then he set about making their dinner.

* * *

When he'd boiled away half the wine, he began adding the spices and vegetables, the heat in the kitchen making him sweat. Castle cleaned his fingers of carrot shavings and unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off his back with a grunt of relief. He pushed the undershirt up his abs and flared it out, creating something of a breeze before he tossed the dress shirt towards the living room floor.

He'd get it later.

Castle dressed the lamb, trimming fat and pieces that didn't look right, and then he placed the shanks in a bowl and left it in the fridge. The marinade was on the stove, the heat turned up higher so that the vegetables would cook faster, and now it was mostly waiting.

Too much time to think.

He checked the time and stirred the pot, and then he headed for the living room once more. He hung his shirt on the back of the armchair and opened one of the boxes still piled next to the couch.

They needed a coffee table, they needed furniture for the extra bedroom, they needed all those little touches that made the place home. The damn panic room was more complete than this place.

Castle found the box filled with items that he knew he'd seen in her bedroom, but she'd labeled it 'den'. He pulled out the blanket throw with its silk and tassels and velvet done in a collage of materials and prints, and he realized it was cradling a set of cast iron birds. One was painted bright azure, the same shade as their door, and the other was a softer baby blue. He liked them; the birds reminded him of her old room and the way he could always settle into it so easily.

He nestled the baby bird with its mother and put them both on the end table beside the couch, then he folded the throw rug and settled it over the ugly couch. Next from the box were the strange coat hooks on the weathered wooden base - each knob was made of colored beveled glass. She had an assortment of things below it, but he didn't think they were supposed to hang up on the hooks.

He'd have to ask. Still, he could nail this to the wall for her. Or at least find the hammer and nails to do the job when she told him where she wanted it.

He heard a gurgling from the kitchen and went back to the stovetop, stirred the marinade once more and lowered the temperature.

And then he realized he'd hadn't heard the dog in ages.

His heart flipped.

"Sasha?"

* * *

"Sasha, here girl," he called urgently.

His fingers were numb at the tips, that sensation of panic creeping up his arms, but he snatched his gun from the kitchen table and kept going. The living room and dining room were clear, and he headed upstairs for the empty front bedroom.

"Sasha, come on, puppy." He elbowed the closet door wider and even beat at the curtains, just in case. But she was a big dog; it wasn't like she could hide from him.

"Sasha, Sash, come here." He went down the hallway and to their bedroom at the back, ducked his head under the bed to check. Nothing. Not in the bathroom either, not trapped in the shower stall-

Trapped.

Shit.

Castle ran for the stairs and took them two at a time, beat a path back through the living room and to the kitchen.

The cellar door was shut.

He yanked it open and flew down the stairs, guilt flooding him.

He got to the bottom and saw that the door to the panic room was closed.

It was supposed to remain open.

"Sasha," he muttered, keying open the door at the panel and hearing the lock release. Immediately he could sense the dog in the room, heard her low woofs as he pushed the door open. Sasha came bounding out with a yelping bark and knocked into him, paws at his chest and tongue swiping his cheeks with a love he didn't deserve.

"Oh, Sasha, I'm so sorry," he soothed, dropping his weapon and stroking his fingers through her fur and under her collar.

The overgrown puppy wriggled against him and her tail wagged; she let out a few more low woofs, licking his jaw, his neck, his fingers as he hugged and petted her.

"Okay, wolf, all right. You need to go outside, don't you?"

Sasha barked and leaped for the stairs, leaving Castle to follow.

This time, when he got to the kitchen, he carefully shut the cellar door after him.

* * *

Kate's fingers trembled against the door knob of Dr King's session room, but she swiped her other hand at her cheeks one last time before twisting the knob open and heading out. The door led straight to the hallway inside the nondescript government building, and she didn't have to see anyone back in the lobby as she left.

They were lucky that Dr King had agreed to come to New York and do these sessions with them, even though the way she felt right now was the furthest from lucky she could get.

Kate scraped a hand through her hair and tugged, realized she'd done so much of that today that her scalp was bruised and her hair oily from repeated swipes. She sighed and dropped her hand, moved down the hallway for the elevators.

She stood on the balls of her feet until the car opened, stepped on with a handful of people also going down. She felt claustrophobic - she always did when she was emotionally wrecked - and she was the first off the elevator when it reached the ground floor.

She took the subway home, nearly getting on the wrong line and heading for her bombed-out apartment, remembering at the last second. She slipped inside the car and sank down to the orange plastic seat, battling back the urge to cry.

Not here, not over that. Not on the subway. She'd been a New Yorker her whole life; she'd already had her one free pass for crying on the subway.

But King had a way of diving right into it, hitting the nail on the head and forcing her to open her eyes. He'd remembered exactly where they'd left off at Stone Farm, and he'd been ruthless about getting her to admit how little she'd done in the way of forward progress.

_You don't even have momentum going for you, Kate. You're stuck._

She wanted all those things that shined before her like pearls, but they were deep underwater, a place impenetrable and cold and dark. If she had to dive down there for those promises, for the rainbowed sheen of her future, she wasn't sure she could survive it.

* * *

Castle was nervous when he heard the key in the lock, wondered how he was supposed to explain what he'd done, letting the dog get trapped in the panic room. He'd see the carefully veiled recriminations in her eyes, the way she didn't say all the things they already knew - he was crazy, he was cracked, he was going to get someone hurt - probably her.

But when she came through the door, he was standing at the stove with the lamb shanks marinading, and she settled her bag on the table and then immediately turned and climbed the stairs.

She didn't even look at him.

"Kate?" He stepped away and came haltingly towards the entry where the stairs lifted towards the top floor, but she kept climbing. "Kate."

He came after her then, his hand on the banister, and she got to the landing before him but he was faster. He snagged her by the elbow and she shivered then crashed into his chest and nearly rocked him off-balance and back down the stairs.

He stumbled on the step but put his arms around her, guided them up to the second floor. "Kate. I'm sorry." He'd known it would be hard for her, that she wasn't the kind of person who worked well with therapy - at least, not at first - but he hadn't realized just how tightly her control was wound, just how easily shattered it was as well.

"I need to go to bed," she said then, her fingers coming up to his chest so she could push herself off.

"Want me to come?"

She shook her head. "Just - I'm just going to sleep. I'm so tired."

"Okay," he said quietly. Her fingers fisted in his shirt for a moment and then released, and she was walking down the hall to their bedroom door.

He stood there for a long time, even after she'd disappeared inside, and then he went back downstairs and set about putting dinner away.

Maybe he'd heat it up later.

* * *

She roused from darkness to the feel of arms around her and the warmth of him at her back. The shivering stopped, and his thigh pushed between her knees. She unfisted her hand from the bedspread and splayed her fingers out at his forearm, clung to him instead.

He didn't say anything, and she didn't have anything to give, but he stayed wrapped around her, smelling of woodsmoke and red wine, until she finally fell asleep.

* * *

He fell asleep with his nose pressed against the back of her neck. He hadn't meant to; he'd meant to stay up until - until whenever she needed him - but instead he found himself being dragged under.

He woke late in the night when Sasha jumped up on the bed, and the dog came and settled in the cove of Kate's curled body. He felt her fur brush against his arms and he unwrapped his fingers from Kate to scratch at Sasha's head.

"Good girl," he murmured. He should get up and take her out for the night.

In a minute. Sasha would wake him if it became urgent - that sharp, wet nose to his elbow or just at his jaw. Her usual method.

He returned his face to the warm skin at Kate's neck and took in a long breath, disturbing her hair and make it flutter. But she was heavy in his arms now, deeply asleep, and this might be the best time to leave her.

Castle sighed and shifted slowly away, pulled the blanket up over her shoulders.

"Come on, Sasha. Let's go outside."

The dog slunk off the bed and came to heel at his side, looking up adoringly at him. He petted her again and tucked his fingers under her collar, then he led the way to the front door and her leash.

* * *

She woke alone and heavy, a blanket pressing her down to the mattress. The room was dark, thick with the night outside and the things inside, and she pushed back the covers to sit up, groggy.

Had she dreamed Castle? No, the blanket had been him.

Kate rubbed a hand down her face and sucked in a long breath, put her feet to the floor and pushed up. There were less cracks in her, less leaking out, but there was still damage. She'd been on her knees willing to die for him, but now she couldn't talk to him?

King was right, and she had to get a handle on this.

She went looking for him.

The hallway was cast in long black shadows, no light penetrating the interior. She wobbled as she got her bearings, realized she hadn't eaten dinner. He'd smelled like food too, she remembered, and she headed for the kitchen first to see if he'd gone back to it.

The oven clock glowed green in the darkness, an irrepressible 10:09 on its face, and she turned on her heel to head back for the living room. The softness inside their home put her at ease; it was strange how only a few weeks living here had made it so completely theirs. It helped that it was off the radar, that the address wasn't registered to either of their names in a public search, but mostly it was the day to day living.

They'd created a home. And it didn't scare her now, even though she couldn't find him at this moment.

That was a step forward, wasn't it? That her security could be so complete after such a short time. That she not only sought Castle out as her refuge, like King had mentioned, but that she also worked with him to build it.

Surely she got points for that.

King always liked to challenge her; he used her innate sense of self-competition to push her forward, and it worked. She was pushed; she was ready to tackle things.

She wandered upstairs until she realized he wasn't there either, and she frowned as she headed back to the first floor. The cellar door was shut tight, but she gripped the knob and twisted it hard to pop it open, slapped her hand against the wall to find the light.

The harsh bulb illuminated mostly shadows, but after a few steps down, she could see the open door to the panic room. Empty.

He was gone.

Ah.

Her lips twitched as she headed back up the stairs.

So was the dog, she realized. Sasha was stealthy, sure, but she'd have come to Kate upstairs if she'd been sleeping in the empty extra bedroom. The dog had been doing that lately, or sleeping downstairs in the cellar, confused because they'd gone back to their bedroom after a few weeks of practically hibernating down there.

Kate slapped off the light and pushed the door shut with her hip, moved for the front door. She stepped into her shoes, hooked her finger in the back of her heel to smooth it out. The leash was missing from the entryway table, so Kate picked up her keys from the elephant's trunk and unlocked the door.

The night air was warm on her face, a soft breeze stirring, and she locked the door behind her as she came down the short steps to the sidewalk. She pushed her hands into her back pockets and glanced to either side.

She was just about to turn around and go inside to get her phone, hope he had his on him, when she saw the blurred outline down the block, heading away from her. She saw the dog's long tail and her nose to the ground, the sharp set of Castle's shoulders.

Kate let out a breath of relief and hustled forward, pulled her hands out of her pockets to move faster, her stride long and quick. The city was never really dark, but only a few cars came down Broome Street. She'd just made it to the impressive apartment building on the corner when Castle turned at her approach.

"Hey," she called.

"Hey there," he said as she came up to him. His hand was around the leash, but he didn't move to touch her. She appreciated the restraint, but she didn't need it.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. He shivered as if he were cold, but it was humid out here even in the flickering breeze. The trees murmured overhead and Sasha nudged her nose against Kate's knee, as if in encouragement.

"Love you," she said quietly, and drew him down to meet her for a kiss.


	5. Chapter 5

**Close Encounters 7**

* * *

They took their time, walking the dog slowly up and down blocks, wandering and aimless. He held her hand in his with the leash wrapped between their palms, tangled in their fingers, and he let her talk about everything at her own pace, knowing she would if she was just given the time.

"It's good to have someone," she said quietly.

He chuckled. "What am I? Chopped liver?"

She knocked her head against his shoulder and he grinned over at her, a lamp illuminating the chagrined look on her face.

"Kidding, Kate. I go to CIA sessions after every mission."

"You do?" She cast him an almost anxious look. "You have someone?"

"Not a specific guy. They don't like us to form those kinds of attachments. But a team of psychologists. We get debriefed and someone from the team is always assigned. Not sure it does any good - mostly you keep yourself pretty guarded to avoid being assigned desk duty. But knowing they're there - yeah, sure, I guess."

She clutched harder at his fingers and they came across a strip of green, a gate guarding the park. It was locked, but Castle reached into his back pocket and pulled out his lockpicking tools.

"You're kidding me," she snorted.

He glanced over at her with a little grin. "What?"

"You carry that around with you?"

"Yeah, so?" He shrugged her off and worked at the gate until it clicked, a relatively easy job. He led them through and closed the gate after them, reached down to let Sasha off the leash. The dog stayed nearby though, roamed in ever-widening circles without going too far.

"Tell me about the assigned psychologist."

He laughed and gripped her by the back of the neck, brought her in close to kiss the corner of her mouth. She pushed her hand into the pocket of his jeans and he felt her fingers wriggling.

"Assigned psychologist. King was on the team at one point; that's how I knew about his methods when we were at Stone Farm. He's aggressive - not like the others. I thought you might like him."

"I do," she said slowly, and he heard hesitation in it.

"But?"

"But he churns things up. Which is good, I guess. Leaves me. . ."

"Ragged," he supplied. He'd seen her face when she walked in the door this evening.

"Yeah," she sighed out. "I'm not sure you're going to like me very much."

"Been there, done that, Kate. Stone Farm, remember?"

She barked a laugh that made Sasha turn her head towards them; he grinned back and guided them over to a bench, sank down and invited her to sit with him.

She did, her shoulder brushing his. "I'm going to be okay, Castle."

"I know you are." He was confident in that. "We both will. It takes some time, but it's worth it, love."

She nodded and her fingers came to his knee, made designs that burned along his skin. His love for her was so intense in this moment that he wanted to pull her inside himself, wanted to make her invincible to it all.

But that was impossible when the wounds were this deep.

"You're gonna have to make me talk to you, Castle," she said quietly. "My instinct is to crawl into bed and shut down. But King said I have to talk - and I know I do. I have to tell you these things."

"Make you," he said, couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled in his chest. "Right, sweetheart. Like I could make you do anything at all."

"You can be very persuasive," she murmured, but she was laughing a little too.

And then he had an idea. "Kate, I'll make you a deal."

"Hm?"

"You get a reward for every therapy thing you share. Each little revelation or emotion that King stirs up."

"Are you using operant conditioning on me, Castle?"

He grinned and shrugged. "Could be."

"What's my reward?" she said suspiciously.

He trailed his fingers down the side of her neck, slipped under her shirt. He could feel her breath catch and he skimmed his fingers across the line of her bra.

"Like this," he murmured.

"Good - good reward," she choked out.

He smiled and leaned in close to her, breathed warmly along her cheek. His lips barely touched her and she made a whimpering noise in the back of her throat.

"Castle," she sucked in a breath.

"Yeah?"

"First one."

"Oh yeah?"

"I'll tell you right now and then we go straight home for my reward."

"Or you get it right here," he whispered. "Your eyes are so dark, Kate."

She turned her head into him and her mouth was at his ear, their cheeks brushing. "I have nightmares about drowning. But when I wake, I'm on the kitchen floor, my head is pounding, and I realize I'm hungover and you're still dead."

His fingers stilled at her sternum, his throat closing up.

"You promised," she murmured. "Don't stop."

How was he supposed to do that?

* * *

He did what he promised and she found herself lying on the park bench with her head in his lap, her eyes filled with stars. Even in the city, even with the pinkish tinge to the black sky, all she saw were stars.

Her heart was still pounding and she didn't know if it was because of the nightmare he'd teased from her, touch by touch, or the way his fingers feathered over her still. She reached out and curled her hand around his at her stomach, swallowed hard.

"Rick," she murmured, turned her head into his body. She felt him flinch and the ripple of his abs, couldn't help smiling to know he was worked up as well.

"Time to go," he muttered, his fingers tightening in hers and smoothing down her shirt.

"Yeah," she breathed out. "If I can walk."

He laughed against her temple and eased her upright; she swayed on the bench and blew out a breath, turned to look at him.

"You good?" he murmured, lifting his lips in that pleased smile that she knew all too well.

"Very," she replied. Still a little jumbled, a little buzzed, and she realized again that they were in a public park at nearly eleven o'clock at night. "I can't believe we just did that."

"Hey, the gate's closed. Supposedly locked. No one's here."

She pressed a hand to her flaming cheek, realized she was still hopelessly turned on by it. "Yeah," she said roughly, nodding at him. "I'm good with that."

"I saw," he murmured back, a smirk in his eyes. "Call the dog, Kate. We'll go home."

"You call her. You're her favorite."

"No," he said quietly. "You."

She stared at him for a long moment, realized he'd paid attention to everything she'd said about her dream, about waking up in a nightmare where he was dead and she was so far gone she couldn't even take care of their dog, their only baby.

"You plan on using sex therapy on me for the rest of the night? Or was this a one-time deal?" she muttered.

He only grinned. "I'm all for sex. Of any kind. Sexual healing?"

"That sounds so lame."

"You sounded pretty enthusiastic about it only ten minutes ago."

She huffed and turned her head back to the trees, bit her bottom lip to gather herself. "Sasha!" she called out. "Here, girl."

The dog came at her call, loping out of the trees with her ears pricked forward. In the darkness, with the faint shine of yellow park light across her fur, she looked more primal and wolflike than ever before, and the coiled energy coming towards them made Kate's breath catch.

"Hey, baby," she murmured, coming to her knees at the dog's side, clipping the leash on as she stroked her hands between those narrow ears. Sasha nudged under her arm, pressing in close, and lifted her muzzle to lick at Kate's face.

"See? She loves you too. She'd want to be with you, no matter what."

She would, wouldn't she? Kate might be just as inept and irresponsible about taking care of the thing should she ever spiral out again, but Sasha needed her too.

Dumb dog.

"But it will never get to that again," Castle said then, his hand coming to her armpit and lifting her off her feet. "I promise you. I promise. I'll never leave you. We do it together."

"And when you leave for a mission?" she said, unable to stop herself.

He closed his mouth, his eyes sad, and then he was wrapping both arms around her and crushing her against his chest. "And when I leave, you come with me, Kate. That's all I want. I want you with me."

But she didn't know if she could go back to the CIA.

And wasn't that really the heart of the problem?

* * *

They dressed in pajamas and had dinner in the living room, reheated lamb shanks that she moaned over, teasing him no doubt. Castle sat on the floor at her feet, and she shifted on the couch to drape her legs over his shoulders, her knees at his ears. When she finished her meal before him, she set her plate aside and ran her fingers through his hair.

It took him even longer to finish, drugged by the sensation of her hands, the feel of her bare legs pinning him. He liked the way she'd curl her feet at his ribs, her bare toes running up and down thoughtlessly. He liked having her close and laughing as they watched terrible late-night talk shows.

He turned and took her plate, stacked it with his, but was loath to move. Instead he nudged the dishes farther away from him and leaned his head back against the couch cushion. Kate hummed and her foot bobbed over his shoulder, so he wrapped his arms around her legs and brushed his jaw to the inside of her thigh.

She laughed and clutched his head. "Oof, can't do that. Your stubble is sharp."

He grinned and pressed his mouth to her skin, kissing the red mark. "Sorry." But he wasn't.

He nudged his chin along her leg, scraping more, and she squeezed his head between her knees.

"Okay, okay," he laughed. "Ease up. You're like a boa constrictor."

"That's what you get," she grumbled, but her hand was back in his hair and soothing, her nails prickling his scalp.

"I could fall asleep like this," he murmured, letting his eyes close and his cheek rest against her thigh.

"Go ahead, love," she hummed back, and he felt her hunch over him and kiss his temple. "I'll wake you when it's time for bed."

He wanted to struggle up and be more with it, be conscious at least, but the last few weeks of training had taken it out of him. He needed restorative sleep again, and he wasn't getting it.

She was skimming her fingers over the side of his face, in his hair, tracing patterns along his skin, words he couldn't translate. He had therapy tomorrow morning, early, and he wasn't looking forward to it, especially with the nightmares he'd had lately, but he knew it was going to be good for them. It had to be.

Because he loved her and he didn't know what else to do.

* * *

Kate eased her legs off of him and laid down on the lumpy, too short couch. (They had to get a replacement - soon. It was so uncomfortable.) With Castle's head near hers, leaning back as he slept, she could still run her fingers through his hair, stroke at the soft skin along the side of his neck.

She curled up, the television casting blue light around the room, and she traced the edge of his eye, the deep lines from frowning and squinting, the smaller lines from laughing. He hadn't had a lot of laughter in his life, and she loved that she'd been the one to make him smile.

Not as much lately. They'd been through a lot, and now it was settling out - the things they'd done and had done to them. She knew he dreamed of that day in the alley; he woke shouting every time. She'd slept through a few others of his only to wake to her own nightmares, find the bed cold. Sometimes he was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall, sometimes she heard him in the living room disassembling a weapon, sometimes she had to go find him.

She was glad now to watch him sleep, the muted blue light across his face and the murmurs from the television. She thought maybe the white noise of sound helped distract his mind, because he hadn't twitched or jerked like he normally did these days.

Kate curled her fingers at the side of his neck and came in to kiss his temple, the corner of his eye, the lines. Seeing him so deeply asleep released a tenderness in her that was drowning, a love that made her want to weep.

It was possible that in her session King had been right.

She had to reclaim her life, her strength of mind and soul, in order to love Castle in healthy ways, ways that stopped twisting them both. King hadn't been the first to point out her issues; she'd had a therapist after her mother had died as well, but she'd stopped going when it got too hard, left her out of control and raw. Both the psychologist and King had shown Kate what she did, her behavior and her messed up thinking.

She'd found herself to be a stubborn woman who sabotagued the good in her life because her mother had died and her father had left her for alcohol - and somehow being broken was a way to punish them. And Castle was stubborn himself, sticking with her despite how she pushed him away, intent on _making_ her stay, and he was broken enough to feel it was all he deserved, the lonely and abandoned boy.

She was punishing him for things he couldn't control and mistakes he'd made. For his father, for leaving her in the dark about everything, for pretending to be dead and not telling her, for getting stabbed when all she'd wanted was to finally confront her mother's killer, for _loving_ her so much he kept trying to shield her, protect her, keep her from the truth.

They had to talk, and she knew that. She wanted to be good for him, like he could be for her, and that would only come with work.

But in their home with the blue light bathing his face and his warm skin under her fingers, she could finally admit that it scared her.

The work had her terrified.

* * *

He woke on the floor and every breath was filled with the scent of her even as the dream faded. Castle lifted his head off the couch, his legs half numb, his neck stiff, and he leaned forward with a grunt. He opened his eyes reluctantly, his body in rebellion, and was dazzled by the light. The sun was just beginning to rise and it hit the beveled glass over the front door, spilled gold, green, and amber beams through the entryway.

Castle got to his knees, couldn't remember ever going to bed, and turned to lever himself up off the floor only to find Kate right there.

She was asleep on the couch behind him, a hand under her cheek, her mouth faintly open, her lashes so dark on her cheeks. He lifted up and brushed his lips over her forehead, his fingers stroking over her skin, and she murmured and sighed but didn't wake.

He stood and his knees creaked, his spine popped; he stumbled towards the kitchen and stood swaying in the threshold, found Sasha yawning from the floor right in front of the door to the cellar.

"Hey, wolf," he murmured, catching the yawn and reaching out his fingers to her. She hefted herself up like an old dog, sloughed off her sleep with a full body shake, and nudged his hand with her nose, licking.

Castle bent over for her water bowl, rinsed it out in the sink, filled it with water again and placed it on the floor. He washed out the food dish, realizing even as he did that he was being a little fastidious about it. He replaced it empty, but he moved to the pantry and opened up the plastic storage container Beckett had bought for the dog food.

Sasha nudged into his calf as if in reminder, and he reached back and rubbed her fur as he scooped out a cupful of the pellets. He turned around and gently kneed the dog aside, poured her food into the dish. Sasha gave him a look and then hung her head over the bowl, ate a few bites as if throwing him a bone, and then she moved around the kitchen counter and sank back to the floor.

Castle chuckled, replacing the cup inside the storage container, closing it up tight. He shut the pantry door and scratched at the back of his neck, yawned again.

He checked the time - only six - and thought about going back to bed.

Maybe this time not in the living room.

Castle moved through the dining room, reached out to touch the wings, skimming his fingers over the metal, and then he stopped in the entryway, closed his eyes as he stood in the sunlight.

He lifted his arms and spread his fingers out, let the warmth soak into his skin, the sun on his face and the scent of that lotion of hers in the air.

"You look like an angel."

He startled and glanced over his shoulder to find Kate sitting up on the couch, one hand in her hair and pushing it out of her eyes.

"Really," she insisted, rising from the couch and coming towards him with an outstretched hand.

He took hers, palm to palm, and she squeezed but shook him off to slide her arms around his waist, cozying up to him with her cheek against his chest. He embraced her, pushed his nose into the top of her head, sighing.

"Beautiful in the light," she murmured.

"Are you sleepwalking?" he said.

She laughed and lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. "No. It was just a little surreal. The sunlight and the stained glass and you just standing there. You have this - look. I don't know. Your shoulders are so broad and your hands. . ."

He stared down at her, completely at a loss for words. He'd never had anyone go quite that far, speak with such genuine and artless admiration, expecting nothing at all in return.

She thought he was beautiful?

His hands came to her cheeks and he touched his lips to hers, closing his eyes to feel every point of contact between them, the slow blossom of love.

She smelled like honey and flowers, and she tasted like sunlight.

And now she was smiling into his mouth and breaking away from him, her hand coming up to take his. "I'm going up to bed. You coming?"

He followed her, still wordless.

* * *

He shook Dr King's hand as the man stood to meet him. "Richard," King said warmly.

"Ah, call me Rick. Or Castle. My father calls me Richard."

Dr King's smile flickered at the edges of his lips. "You haven't forgotten the ropes."

King gestured to the seating arrangement in front of his desk; Castle dropped down into the chair he'd had yesterday, confused by that statement. King sat across from him.

"The ropes?" Castle asked finally, his eyebrows knitting.

"You've already offered up revealing information. I didn't even have to ask."

Castle huffed and couldn't help the answering smirk. "Yes, well." His father called him Richard. Right.

"All right then - Rick," King started, a nod of his head at the name, "Since you seem ready to start, open up that folder beside you."

On the table between the two chairs was a navy blue school folder, unlabeled and without markings. Castle flipped it open and saw a pocket filled with worksheets, the opposite pocket with an official looking release.

"On the right hand side," Dr King said. "Please pull that out."

Castle did, handling the release and already skimming over it.

"In our initial interview yesterday, you and Kate clearly stated that strengthening your marriage was a priority to you both. We set out a proposed schedule for our sessions - which you can see there. First I will conduct four or five individual sessions to get the lay of the land, so to speak, and then we will move to what I have termed group sessions."

"Group?"

"Consisting only of Kate and yourself," King explained. "A group session will still focus on individual problems, but it gives you the added benefit of hearing an outside opinion and also of reinforcing the truth that you are not alone in your feelings."

"Ah," he murmured, but already his hands were slick with the idea of it.

"Finally, we will hold joint therapy sessions, aimed at the particular issues that you have as they relate to one another. Now, I'm not a marriage and family counselor, and I don't claim to be one. What we're doing is different for me, and most likely quite different for you as well. In order to be successful, we are all going to have to trust each other. Trust me with your feelings and your well-being, and trust each other with those same things. So this release in your hands gives me permission to select items or events or phrases from your individual sessions and use them with the other person."

"You're going to tell Kate what I say about her?" Castle got out, dread churning in his stomach.

"Yes."

He stared at the release.

"Kate has already signed it," Dr King offered.

"What did she say about me?" he asked, eyes jerking to the therapist's, his heart catching in his throat.

"A lot of things." King paused only half a beat and then with a raised eyebrow continued. "You don't know what your favorite color is."

He didn't - oh. "Not that I can. . .no."

"You want to think about it? Give her an answer?"

"What does it matter?" he huffed, digging his shoulder blades into the chair, the paper gripped in both hands.

"Does it matter to you?"

"No." Castle sat up straighter, glanced out the window, then down to the release. "Does it - did it seem to matter to Kate? Why would she bring that up in therapy?"

"Richard, it's obvious to me you're doing your best to be considerate of Kate, to be a good partner to her. What do _you_ think it means?"

"I don't understand," he sighed, dragging his gaze back to Dr King. The man had always surprised him by his very lack of presence. His father was so coldly intimidating, so larger than life that Dr King's narrow face and bland eyes, his bald head and his trim but not muscular body had never really made an impression on Castle before.

Maybe that was why it was so easy for him to talk to Dr King. He wasn't a threat.

He wasn't a threat at all. Castle already did trust him. He reached for the pen on the table and uncapped it, brought the ink to the bottom line.

He hesitated.

"Rick," the therapist said. "I have some of the highest security clearance in the CIA. You and I have debriefed more than six times. I've read everything in your file; I knew your father. Trust me when I say that I want this for you - if you want it."

"What?" he said, his voice scraping out. "What for me? My favorite color?"

"Your marriage to work. Your _life_ to work - to be your own."

Castle signed his name to the release.

* * *

Beckett pressed her hands into her eyes to block out the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. Castle was gone, but he hadn't woken her before he left. She didn't know what that meant, if it meant anything at all.

She growled and dragged herself out of bed, tossing off the sheet and heading for the bathroom. She found her hands shaking and her feet clumsy, and that wasn't okay with her.

Forget this. It was therapy. They were in therapy. It was necessary and she wasn't ashamed; she just wanted him to be okay.

Them. She wanted them to be okay, but she was afraid of what it would take to get there.

She knew it, at least. There was power in knowing. She scraped her hair back off her face and faced herself in the mirror, before she turned and headed for the shower.

Her phone rang, the unknown caller ringtone. She paused with her hand on the knob and glanced towards the bedroom, hesitating. Kate shifted but couldn't ignore it; she went back for her phone and scooped it up.

"Beckett," she answered.

"Detective."

She straightened up, tried to place the familiar voice. "Yes?"

"This is the Director-"

"Oh, yes, sir," she rushed in. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you had my number."

"I work for the CIA, Detective."

Shit, she was blushing. Beckett turned her back to the sun coming in through the windows and huffed. "Yes, sir. What can I do for you?"

"There's a matter of some concern," the Director said, each syllable enunciated clearly. "I believe you can be of some help."

"Yes, sir?"

"Agent Castle hasn't called me back, Detective. What do you know about that?"

She stuttered to a stop, passed a hand over her mouth. "Ah. I - right. Sir, Agent Castle is working on a-"

"No, he's not."

She swallowed, but she stopped trying to find excuses and just kept her mouth shut.

"We have a situation that's developed in Chechnya, Detective Beckett. Can I call you Kate?"

She blinked. "Yes, sir."

"Kate," he said with some relish. He sounded like a nice, polished older gentleman, some debonair and formerly rakish player who had settled well into desk duty.

"Sir, I'm not sure what this has to do with me," she said.

"Castle is needed in on a situation in Shali, most urgently."

Beckett paused, her breath catching. "He hasn't-"

"I need Agent Castle on this yesterday."

Beckett lifted a hand to her forehead. "Yes, sir. I'll - he's out at the moment, an appointment-"

"This appointment is more important?"

She closed her eyes, but she was done with putting work first. There was always going to be another crisis in his job, another murder in hers, and she'd been in therapy maybe only a day now, but she knew better. This was their life, and it had to come first or else this thing they had, their family, it might never survive.

"It's important," she said. She pulled her hair off her neck and opened her eyes. "Matter of life and death, actually. But I'll tell him the moment I can."

The moment she thought he could deal with it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Close Encounters 7**

* * *

He would have homework, Dr King explained. There were five worksheets - one for after each session - and they would talk about them together at the next appointment. But first he wanted Castle to write down his goals for their time together.

"Goals." Castle stared at the blank sheet of paper.

"We already did this together - the three of us. You both indicated your marriage-"

"Right. Yes. That's my goal."

"What else, Rick?"

He picked up the pen and wrote a number one. Put a period after it. And then his hand ran away with him and wrote the thing that woke him screaming at night.

_Be good for Kate._

"Good?" Dr King queried, his single word making it sound like Castle had somehow been _vague_ with his first goal.

"Good. For her. Good enough. Not get her shot by my own damn father."

Dr King merely nodded. He already knew, of course; they'd gone over this on the phone when Castle had called to make them an appointment for the first interview.

"Number two?"

Castle scratched the two onto the page and stared at the pure white space after it. "Two. I don't know. It's hard to see the first one actually happening."

Dr King was writing this down. Grrreat. Castle rubbed a hand down his face and sighed.

"Rick. You mentioned that having a favorite color didn't matter to you. But you are worried it matters to Kate. Why?"

He frowned. "She brought it up in therapy," he said, a little bit of indignation coloring his voice. "Don't _you_ think it matters?"

"I think it matters to you what she thinks, yes. What she thinks about you. Why does her mentioning the favorite color question seem so telling?"

"Because my life - my job - I think my job bothers her," he admitted. "I know it does. I'm not - my morals are too grey for her. There's not always a clear-cut bad guy. I kill people. She's _seen_ me kill people - point blank."

"You kill people. For your job or. . .?"

King already knew this. He was a CIA therapist - he'd been _Castle's_ CIA therapist. What exactly did that question mean?

King's gaze was resolute. "Because, Rick, you started to say that it was your life. And then you stopped and said your job. Your job bothers her."

"Ah," he murmured, rubbed his fingers at his eyebrow. "Yes. My - it was my life. Now. It's my job."

"Do you feel that distinction is important?"

He lifted his head, swallowed. "Yes." To be good enough. "Yes. I used to be - the machine. Now I'm more. Because of Kate."

"Do you feel that Kate has seen that distinction in you? That she's seen you make that switch? Chosen a favorite color, as it were."

Oh.

He found himself gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that he could feel the staples in the fabric digging into his fingers. Castle forced himself to relax and took a longer breath in, let it out again. King had taught him that trick about seven years ago.

"I'm a forty-two year old man who has been in the spy business for far too long," Castle said finally. "I wanted out. The way was blocked. But I want to believe that we can change. That we have the capacity to be better, to be more than this."

"Who is we? The CIA? Or yourself and Kate?"

His shoulders slumped and he met Dr King's gaze. "Yes. Yes, all of us."

"Then go home and tell Kate your favorite color."

His heart jumped in his throat. "What if I don't have one?"

"Rick," Dr King said slowly, sitting forward. "You have the capacity; you can be more than this."

He closed his eyes, tried to hold on to the therapist's sense of certainty.

"Rick. The only reason Kate brought it up was because I asked her to tell me about you. Not once did she say you killed people. Don't mistake her, don't sell her short. Believe that she has the capacity as well."

* * *

Beckett had finally unpacked and washed the last of the dishes and put them away in the cabinets when the front door opened and she heard Castle come inside. She paused at the counter and took a breath, pressed her lips together, and then she fisted her hands and went for him.

He looked shell-shocked. Like he hadn't even had a chance to recover despite the long subway ride home.

She waited in the threshold of the dining room, watching him until he turned his head towards her and blinked.

She was ashamed to realize that she didn't know what he needed from her. Yesterday she'd crawled into bed alone to gather herself again, and then she'd gone looking for him. But Castle didn't deal like she did; Castle was a soldier and a spy trained to keep it together. Still, he was also Rick. And she had no idea what he needed.

She opened her mouth to ask, but he was already reaching out and grabbing her, tugging her against him. She let out a breath and clutched the back of his shirt with both hands, hugged him harder as his arms banded around her. She could feel him swallowing convulsively, feel his shallow breaths.

It wasn't about her; it was about him.

She flattened her palm and skated her hand up his back to the nape of his neck, curled her fingers there. He shivered and she turned her head into his cheek, glad she'd worn heels and could reach him. She felt his breath skitter out and she stroked his soft hair, found herself murmuring to him, nonsense, shushing him and he wasn't even talking.

His hand clutched at her bicep and she lifted her her cheek from his, searched his eyes.

Still ripped open. Everything laid bare. She'd never see him with his heart in his eyes like this before. She'd seen him so furious and frustrated and hurting for her that he'd cried, but this wasn't grief over her. This was the raw desperation of _what do I do?_. She knew that feeling, understood it.

"It's gonna be okay," she said. She ran her fingers through the hair flopping over his forehead. "Your hair's getting long."

He swallowed and raised his eyes to look at his bangs. "Yeah," he rasped, cleared his throat to try again. "Getting annoying. Gotta cut it soon."

"Oh, don't do that," she murmured, her whole body trembling like it could open wide and take him in. "I like it. Flippy. The way it curls at your ears."

It wasn't what she'd wanted to say to him; it wasn't even close. But it was all she could make come out of her mouth. She feathered her fingers in his bangs and cupped the side of his face, tried to keep it together for him.

"I'll figure it out," he said suddenly, his voice a growl. "I will. I promise."

She nodded, lips pressed together, but she wasn't sure what. Didn't matter. She knew he would. She knew it.

Kate lifted her mouth to his and kissed him softly, so carefully, breathing lightly against him and waiting, waiting.

And then he cradled her head in his hands and dived in.

She wrapped around him and knew he'd be okay.

* * *

"Let's get out of here," he said. He was tired of the heaviness and he didn't want to associate that feeling with their home. Not any longer.

He didn't know his favorite color.

"Where we going?" she asked. She was already stepping over to the entry table and grabbing her phone and keys. She hesitated at the dark screen of her iphone and her fingers seemed unable to complete their task.

But he must have imagined it, because she snagged it and stuffed her keys into her pocket and then cradled her phone to her chest and turned back to him.

"Sasha, puppy. Come here," she called. He heard the far off rattle of Sasha's dog tags and then her nails clicking on hardwood. He lifted his head and there she was, loping down the stairs to meet them.

"Hey, Wolf," he greeted her. She nudged into his hand and he scratched between her ears. "Been upstairs sleeping?"

"She's been in the extra bedroom. I think it's cooler in there. I dragged her dog bed in."

"She uses it?"

Kate nodded, studied him. "Where we going, Castle?"

He sighed and lifted from the dog. "I don't know where. Just someplace different."

She studied him, and he found it difficult to think at all, let alone recall some suitable place where they could hang out and forget for a while.

"How about my dad's?" she said. "Bring Sasha with us."

He lifted a smile to her, his chest easing. "Yeah. That'd be good."

"I don't even know if he's there. . ."

"Friday is the reception," he reminded her, though he doubted she needed it. She'd been calling Jim back and forth the last few days, finalizing the number of guests and editing the menu.

"He's been out fishing this weekend, and I'm not sure when he gets back," she answered. "Still, I have a key."

Why was it so much easier to breathe? But he nodded at her and reached for her hand; she came at his side and bumped hips with him like she was doing her best to match his mood and then bring him up with her.

"You drive," he asked, commanded, offered. Not sure. He was supposed to work at letting go. She had the leash already, clipping it onto the dog's collar, and he took it from her so her hands would be free.

"You sure?" she murmured, reaching for the knob of the front door.

"Yeah. So long as you don't mind," he added. He was supposed to stop making decisions for her, unilaterally choosing a course of action. Release his control. "Come, Sash."

The dog nosed for the front door, and Kate nodded and offered him a lopsided smile, a little pained, even as they stepped outside into the bright sunlight. "I'm supposed to work on letting go of my control."

He startled to a stop with a huff of a breath, couldn't help it. Sasha tugged on the leash and Kate was locking the door, but when she turned to look at him, he shook his head.

"He told me the same thing."

"Oh yeah?" she grinned, a careful one but there nonetheless. "We're both control freaks then? Not good, Castle."

"Yeah, you're telling me. If neither of us are in control, what the hell are we in for?"

She laughed then, something tender in her eyes as she regarded him. "Maybe that's the point."

"Scares the shit out of me."

Her hand squeezed around his and she came in close to kiss his cheek, lips soft and brushing. "Me too, super spy. Me too."

"Maybe I should drive."

"Oh, no way. You can't take it back now." She nudged into him and knocked him down the short flight of steps to the sidewalk below, laughing as he brought her with him. "I'm driving. You get to sit patiently in the passenger seat."

"I'm not that patient."

"You're really not. Be good for you," she chuckled. The smile was gorgeous; it lightened his steps as they headed for the Range Rover parked a few houses down. He'd gotten a good spot earlier that weekend, and they hadn't wanted to go anywhere and lose it.

"Yeah, it'll be good for me," he sighed, let himself sound almost melodramatic with it. She lifted startled eyes to his, maybe thinking he was serious, and then she laughed again, brilliant and dazzling. "You're good for me."

She stopped so suddenly that he ran right into her, catching her at the hip and a shoulder to keep them both from toppling. Her hand came up, keys bumping his chin, and she guided them into a kiss.

Hungry, eager, a little overwhelming.

And then she pulled back with a sucked in breath. "Thank you." Her smile was crooked now with something deeply felt. "You just made my whole week, Castle."

* * *

They took shifts, and she had the last leg of the journey, maneuvering the Ranger Rover over the dirt road's washed out sections and potholes until they arrived at her father's cabin. She'd had a brief phone call with him when Castle had stopped for a bathroom break and to let them switch drivers, let Sasha out to roam around, so her father knew they were coming.

But for now, for tonight, they were alone. Her dad didn't arrive back from his fishing trip until tomorrow.

She stopped the car and they got out simultaneously, silent and aware, the afternoon's warmth enveloping her body and the ticking of the engine as it cooled. The dog was sniffing at the ground so Kate unclipped the leash, let Sasha wander away.

The cabin was framed by trees drooping in the heat, their shadows dappling over the roof and along the dirt path. Her father had at one time experimented with gardening, and the vegetables were growing in thick clumps along the side of the house - squash, green pepper, cucumber, mint and basil. The jasmine tree he'd nursed into life beside the front door had been cut back and seemed to be dying now, but the hibiscus was flowering in huge blooms as big as her fist.

Castle put his hand at her hip to lead her inside, and when she turned back to him she realized they hadn't brought clothes of any kind, no toiletries. They'd have to borrow things from her father, put on the same clothes tomorrow.

She found she didn't mind.

Kate drifted her fingers back to his forearm, squeezed as she searched downward for his hand. He accepted the clasp and bumped into her side; they headed for the front door and he took the keys from her, unlocking it.

The place smelled of wood and her father's cologne, with a mixture of laundry and Italian seasonings below it that actually reminded her of the walkup they'd rented in Rome after the debacle of Copenhagen. She'd loved that little set of rooms, loved the sunshine on her face and waking up with him safe and hidden.

Castle had stepped ahead of her and into the living room and their hands tugged as he reached the limit of their arms. It pulled her back to the present and she smiled and came forward, let the fingers of her free hand skim his waist, the taut line of his back.

She felt Sasha brush by their legs and come on inside, probably hot in the summer sun outside, and she turned her head to look for the wolf, but Castle was tugging for her attention.

He moved into her and wrapped her up in his arms, a fierce embrace that pulled her off her feet despite being nearly as tall as him. Her back popped as her spine extended and she grinned as he palmed her ass and slid the keys into her back pocket.

"We have the place to ourselves," he murmured. "A pre-honeymoon?"

She laughed and untangled an arm from between them, slipped it up behind his neck. "For one night?"

"Take you where I can get you," he gruffed into her neck. She shivered and closed her eyes to the sensation.

His fingers wriggled in her back pocket and then skimmed up under her shirt, hot and demanding, his other hand already coming down to work at the button of her jeans, and she remembered.

She remembered the phone call and what she was supposed to tell him, remembered he had a job to do, serious business in Chechnya. And even though it wasn't fair, she needed him more. But she couldn't keep quiet for much longer.

"One night," she promised herself.

And then she'd tell him.

* * *

He sat with her at the kitchen table and argued over the one thousand piece puzzle of the London skyline her father had attempted and left there, perhaps only a quarter of the way through. She wanted to do the outside edges first, the straight lines and corners, and he wanted to group the scraps of color together, the sections of distinctive architecture like the Tower Bridge.

"This is really pretty analogous to our ways of thinking," she muttered, slapping his hand as he tried to take a piece from her. He had a bottom corner he was working on, the foot of the bridge, and she was piecing together the frame.

"It is at that," he chuckled, popping it into place. She grabbed his thumb and twisted, moving his hands away, and then she had his section lined up with hers and fitting flush.

She grinned triumphantly. "See? Told you so."

He conceded the win and skated his fingers up her forearm. "You want the big picture and I want to look at each individual section, take it step by step until we get there."

"But it worked," she said, a little smile lifting the corner of her mouth.

"It does work."

"Just a puzzle though."

"Isn't all of life a puzzle?" he shot back.

She chuckled and tilted her head at him, swiped the glass of milk she'd left beside her elbow. She swirled her drink and eyed him. "Rather melodramatic of you. And a little oversimplified."

He shrugged. At his feet, the dog lifted her head and her tailed swished the floor, breaking the moment. He glanced down and petted between her ears, grinned at the way the wolf slitted her eyes and leaned heavily into his touch.

"When we get back to New York. . ." she started.

"Yeah?" he asked, lifting from the dog. "We've only got a few days before we're back here for the reception."

She nodded and swallowed her milk, put the glass back down. "I want to go see a play."

He laughed a little, surprised with her. "Okay. You asking or telling?"

She wrinkled her nose at him and ducked her head, that shy Kate coming out once more. "I guess I'm supposed to be asking, but I'm telling."

He laughed harder, raising both eyebrows at her, but she just waved it away.

"What play?" he asked then, finding another puzzle piece and snapping it into place.

"Your mother's."

His hands went still and he felt the sharp curve of the rounded end under his thumb. Castle lifted his head to her and the shyness was gone, the uncertainty replaced with a deliberation and determination that had always thrilled him. She was so _strong_. An Amazon.

Even in this too.

"By yourself?" he tossed out, hoping for light-hearted but sounding entirely too hopeful for his own good.

She slowly shook her head.

_Let go, let go, let go_. King had warned him that he had to stop shutting down on these things, stop trying to control every outcome, every meeting.

"When?" he got out.

"Matinee on Wednesday."

He nodded slowly, absorbing that information. "Did she. . .tell you about it?"

"Castle, we talk."

He sucked in a breath and lifted his eyes to her again. "Yeah, I figured you were."

"She's. . .she didn't ask me to go, or you. There's no pressure. We don't have to stick around and go up after the show. Just-"

"I got it," he said quietly. "I'm - just don't know how great a time this is. . .to be opening this up again."

"I know," she said. "I still think you should do this. I think - think it will help. But you don't have to."

He dropped his eyes back to the puzzle, searching for something to fit, make sense, and the silence went on between them. He didn't want to do it, but he didn't want to let her down.

Suddenly Kate was pushing his shoulder back into the chair and sliding her knee over his lap, straddling him at the table. She wrapped herself around him, her palm flat at his back, the other in his hair and stroking down his neck.

"It's okay, Rick. You're going to be okay."

He clutched her waist, hands broad at her sides so that he practically swallowed her, and he let his forehead lower to her shoulder so he could breathe.

"I won't let anything happen to you," she murmured at his temple. "I promise I'll keep you safe."

* * *

When his phone vibrated and he looked at it but put it away, Beckett knew she had to say something.

She had to.

They were in her father's kitchen making a quick dinner - chicken simmered in tomato sauce and white wine, some seasonings - and he was supposed to be opening the cans of sauce for her. He had to keep checking his phone instead.

It was becoming unprofessional of her - unethical for sure - and probably irresponsible to withhold this information. She knew that Castle wasn't indispensable to the CIA; she knew there was a whole team working on whatever it was and that his insight might be requested, but she hoped it wasn't necessary.

Excuses.

"Was that the Director?" she murmured.

"Are we gonna have tonight, or are you going to keep pushing?" he muttered.

She took a breath and lifted an eyebrow at him, the tremble of anger singing in and out of her blood in a second. Over and done.

He shook his head, rubbed his hand down his jaw. When he cleared his throat, she could hear the _let's try that again_ in his voice. "It was the Director. Yes."

"He called me," she confessed.

His head came up.

She kept going. "Do you want to know why?"

"When?" Castle asked instead.

"Today," she admitted. "And - well, I answered your phone that day we moved in. I thought it was - I don't know. I answered. He wanted me to pass on the message for you to call him back but I forgot at first and then I. . ."

She trailed off into nothing and bit her bottom lip, hated the shaky flash of panic that burned through her.

"And so he called you today."

Kate gave him a short nod, forced herself to keep going. "There's a situation in-"

"I know," he said softly.

She paused.

He sighed and stood back from the kitchen counter. "Chechnya. I've been reading the reports. The Director has a team. As the head of operations in Eastern Europe - well, it'd be my department. But I'm not in that job officially until after the wedding reception. And Kate. . ."

"I get it," she said quickly. She turned the burner down on the stove to keep the chicken from drying out, handed him the two cans of tomato sauce for him to open.

"They don't need me. This thing will be months of planning - if we do an exfiltration at all."

"Exfiltration?" she asked.

"There's an American agent undercover; he's a hostage in a large group at a hotel. Makes it. . .special."

She waited and he finally cranked the can opener, pulled the lids off. She reached for the sauce, but he nudged her aside and did it himself, pouring it out of the can, a little shake to get the last of it. Taking back control.

"I should have said something sooner," she admitted.

"Didn't matter, one way or another. I haven't wanted to think about work, and God knows you have every right to hate the place."

"I don't," she said quietly.

"Kate." Chiding her for dishonesty?

"I don't hate the CIA. I don't hate your job. You do important work; you protect people from the worst of it, Castle. The parts I don't like are-" She stopped and huffed; he looked up at her.

"What?"

"The parts I don't like all had to do with your father," she shrugged. "Mostly."

"Staying in the CIA means protection for you, for us," he started again, but she'd heard it already. She knew. He thought his father would be less likely to come after her if Castle stayed.

"I know that already," she said quickly. "It's not really - it's how he treated you, Rick. How he manipulated you. His home grown lab experiment. You said it yourself."

He stirred the chicken in its sauce and finally looked at her. "I know."

"That's what I hate. But the Director? He's a nice enough guy. I'm sure he's done his share of covert things we're not allowed to talk about, but I get the sense that he's not going to sell you out just to get what he wants. That he cares about the people and not just the performance."

"I think so," Castle said.

"I like feeling that what I do has some. . .redemptive quality to it?" she went on. She was supposed to be talking to him about these things; she just hadn't expected it to be now. "As a detective, I know that I'm providing a sense of closure - of justice hopefully - for a grieving family, during some of their darkest nights. I know that feeling, Castle. I live it."

"I know," he said quickly. His arm snaked out and slid around her waist, drew her against him at the stove. "I get it. I do."

"But I can see doing this too," she said finally, her cheek pressing against his for a second before she pulled back. "I can see working with you. . .trying to resolve a hostage situation? Getting someone important out of a dangerous country. Doing those positive things. I don't want to head out to Copenhagen and execute a whole group of gun smugglers, Castle, but-"

"I know," he said quickly. "And I shouldn't have taken you with me then. We should never have-"

"No, no. That's not it either. I wanted to go. I was prepared."

"So what was it?" he murmured at her temple. His voice sounded desperate, like he just didn't understand.

"I walk a fine line between wanting justice for my mother and wanting vengeance, Castle. And killing those men in Copenhagen. . .that felt a little too close to vengeance for comfort."

His arm tightened at her waist and she breathed through it, through the dark honesty of telling him deepest part of her fears.

"You won't be doing that. I promise. And the good thing about your position - if you take it - is that you'd be there as a voice of reason. A conscience. I'm not saying my section would never take on those missions - they're necessary. But you'd have the chance to argue against unnecessary force. We'd be able to come up with an alternate plan."

For the first time in months, what he was saying actually sounded appealing.

"Give me time," she said finally, cupping his cheek with her palm. "Just give me some time."


	7. Chapter 7

**Close Encounters 7**

* * *

Her father knew everything that had transpired - everything - and yet he still treated Castle like a son. They had brunch, the three of them, the next day, sitting at the round kitchen table, and Jim was smiling and telling stories about the fish that had gotten away.

They left around noon, after Castle had used his good knife to help dress the fish that Jim had caught, and Kate was the one who drove, laughing at him. He could still smell fish guts on his fingers, even though he'd washed his hands five or six times afterwards.

Sasha slept in the backseat, came awake and barked sharply once when Kate turned up the radio. But the wolf seemed to like the music, and she pushed her nose into the window, so Castle reached around and rolled it down for her. Just a crack. The air coming inside made Sasha ripple with pleasure, and she spent the rest of the drive with her tongue out and her face to the wind.

When they arrived home, walking in the front door was something he didn't even know he needed. He was in yesterday's grimy clothes, he could still smell fish, and his sleep had been off and on, but he was home. They were home. And it settled something in him.

Kate's fingers trailed at his back as she moved past him; he caught her hand and squeezed before letting her go. She unclipped Sasha from the leash and the dog bounded to the kitchen; he could hear her lapping up water.

"Tomorrow is the play," she murmured. "I'll get us tickets?"

He took in a breath. "Yeah. Okay."

She winked at him, moved for the stairs. "I'm taking a shower. You?"

"My fingers are fishy," he said solemnly. "Are you sure?"

"I think I can handle it. Just don't put them in my mouth," she murmured, lifting an eyebrow as she got farther up the stairs.

He came after her then, dropping the keys on the entry table as he climbed the steps. She laughed and pushed on his shoulder, but he snagged her around the waist and nipped at her neck, licked the skin as she shivered.

Her hum traveled through him, made him lift her up off her feet, and she slid her hand back, gripped the nape of his neck. He moved his lips up that muscle, bit into the tender place under her ear. She writhed into him, but he was already dragging her down the hallway.

When he got to their bedroom, she twisted around in his arms and attacked his mouth, her hot hand pushing in under his shirt and scratching down his abs. He grunted into her kiss and stroked his tongue across hers, backing her up, resolutely heading for the bathroom.

She wriggled away and stripped her shirt off, hair bouncing as it went over her head, and he reached for her pants, wanting to help, wanting to touch. Her fingers were at his, unbuttoning, and her mouth loose and heated along his jaw, a laugh tumbling out and turning the air liquid with desire.

They stumbled backwards over the threshold and he reached for the shower door, opened it to fumble for the faucet. She growled and suddenly her hands were pushing his pants down, her body rocking hard into his.

Castle found her mouth for an intense kiss, seeking all of her, needing it all, and everything running circles in his head was finally quiet.

Nothing but her.

* * *

"We're going to my mother's play," he said carefully.

Dr King didn't move a muscle.

Castle took a breath. "Tonight. It's tonight. We already bought the tickets."

"I bet your mother would have procured you two tickets. Left them at willcall."

Castle rubbed two fingers down his thigh and nodded. "Right. I'm - she would."

"I hear a question in that."

He tapped his knee and lifted his gaze to Dr King; the man was settled back in his chair and had that expression. Unhurried, all the time in the world. Castle had no words even with unlimited time.

Dr King broke first. "Are you looking forward to tonight's performance?"

"Mine or hers?"

Dr King only smiled.

"Dreading it," he muttered, and tilted his head back into the chair.

Dr King let him continue on in silence.

* * *

He fisted his hands and had to relax, moved a finger up to his collar and worked at loosening his tie. He wore suits to work every day but this one night of business attire was already choking him.

Kate's body leaned in close to his and she adjusted his tie, her fingers cool and deft. He gave her a quick look and she was smiling softly at him, looking amused.

"You're having fun, at least," he sighed.

"I am, actually."

"I hate you."

"I know, sweetheart," she murmured. Her fingers felt good at his neck and she managed to ease his tie a little more, let him swallow. The subway was crowded and they sat close, the lights flickering as a station passed, and she laid her hand on his knee and stroked.

"When we go back to your dad's," he started.

She rubbed her thumb over his knee, scratched at the material of his pants. He laid his hand over hers and took it, felt his chest easing as well.

"My dad's?"

"After the reception, I want to sit out on the dock and stick my feet in the water. And have you stand there and do that thing - like you did when we were there. . ."

She was smiling at him, that wide smile, and she brought his hand up and kissed the back of it. She lowered her voice and leaned in closer even as his pulse jumped; she could still do that to him.

"You mean when I stripped off my clothes and jumped in the water?"

"I mean when you stripteased me to death," he finished, but he felt himself relaxing again. Watching her smile at him, watching her remember.

"My dad will be there."

"Your dad was there then," he said, his own smile growing.

She laughed and shook her head; her hair stayed perfectly held back, caught by pins and some feminine magic that he could never understand. A slight curl in one strand wound around her neck and did things to him.

"My dad wasn't there that day, Castle. What do you take me for? That weekend he was gone."

"Ah, fishing," he nodded. Her hair and the straight line of her dress that went to mid-thigh, sexy and beautiful and playful. A dress that made her look like a runway model or a magazine cover shoot, and a smile that curled his guts and made him willing to do anything.

Even go to a damn play.

"But I can ask him to leave that night," she murmured then, something delicious and dark in her eyes. "I'll send my dad away and maybe we both can go skinny-dipping in the moonlight."

He grinned widely and already he could picture it, already the promise was enough.

"So be good tonight," she finished. "Be good for me."

Her fingers caressed the side of his face and she leaned in, pressed her lips lightly to his.

"I can be good," he promised.

* * *

"You can stop staring," she hummed. Her smile stretched even though her back was turned to him.

"I'm not," he said easily.

"You are. You still are."

"Never."

She turned her head even as she walked down the theatre aisle, saw him looking, of course. She held her hand out and he took it, tugged her back a little so that they pulled even. She darted into him and kissed his neck, brushed her thumb over the lipstick that she'd left.

"You look quite handsome yourself, Castle." In her heels, she was practically the same height as he was, and she got to see the beautiful blue spark in his eyes.

"Well, then," he laughed, the two of them making their way towards their seats. "Handsome. Nice to hear some unbiased confirmation about my rugged good looks."

"Did I say handsome?" Kate tugged his hand and brought him closer, their hips bumping. "Castle, sweetheart, you're a gorgeous man."

His laugh spilled out at that, a few people turned their way, but she couldn't care less. Kate raised their joined hands and kissed the side of his face again, and then she turned and found their seats, pulled him after her.

As they settled in, his arm came around her shoulders and his fingers danced at the side of her neck. "If I _was_ staring, it's only because you're gorgeous yourself. And you don't let me off easy. You're always going to push me to do the right thing."

She turned and studied him in the soft amber light of the theatre, her knees brushing the back of the seat in front of her. "Does that mean we're going backstage to meet your mother?"

He just sighed. He looked a little chagrinned, and she realized that wasn't actually what he'd intended when he said that.

"I guess it does," he said with a shake of his head. "I guess we are."

She reached out and gripped the nape of his neck, massaged the knots that were already forming there. "Don't worry, Rick. I got your back."

* * *

It was an off-off-Broadway production called 'According to Goldman' that featured a starred cast of older actors. It was good, and amusing, and it probably held a lot of appeal to someone well-versed in American film; it showed the evolution of movies with an edgy streak.

That person wasn't Castle, but he could see why his mother was in it. And Kate was laughing; she'd leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, fingers tapping at her lips or her body sitting up straight whenever something struck her in the scene onstage.

He liked watching her more than the play, but he had to admit that when his mother was out there, her voice certain and emotive, it tugged at something in him.

She'd made him run lines when he was a boy - a small child. He'd run lines with her before he even knew how to read; she'd repeat them to him, tell him his part, or they'd watch the film version first, let her play off whatever he could manage to come up with.

He hadn't been good at it. He didn't remember now what her reaction had been. If she'd been frustrated with him or if she'd berated him. He had no memory of the after, only of the scent of his mother as she whirled around him, the kisses on his cheeks when she'd been successful with a scene they were practicing, the thrill of being helpful.

Nothing else.

But it was a stark contradiction to the lessons his father had taught him, and the methods he'd used to instill those lessons.

Kate had been right; she was usually right.

It wasn't that his mother deserved the chance to know him. It was that Castle himself deserved it. Even if Martha could never explain, even if she never told him why she'd left him to his father, Castle deserved more.

It was time he took it.

* * *

Martha looked absolutely bewildered when they approached her outside the theatre. Kate hadn't been able to convince the stage manager to let them through, but they'd decided to wait outside the exit doors and see if Martha showed.

His mother's face lifted into a dazzling smile and she wrapped Castle in her arms as if no time had passed.

"Darlings, you came," she said warmly, cupping Castle's cheek and patting it. She turned to Kate and embraced with the same enthusiasm, but her words in Kate's wear were whispered and desperate. "Thank you so much."

"Martha," Castle said in greeting, inclining his head. "Could we. . .take you out?"

"That would be lovely, dears," she said magnanimously. She wormed between them, an arm sliding through each of theirs, and led the way down the block.

Kate glanced over at Castle, but he kept his face resolutely ahead, grim and suffering in silence. It would be up to her to get things going.

"Martha, the play was fantastic."

"Oh, thank you. It's a plum role."

"Really funny stuff. How'd you get the part?"

"My agent called - she's a little terror, Paula is, really - and she'd found the casting for it. They specifically wanted the infirm."

"The infirm?" Kate laughed. She swore she saw Castle's lips twitch.

"Oh, you know. All us old farts."

Castle grunted at that; Kate knew it was to keep from laughing, but she grinned and squeezed Martha's arm in encouragement.

"It's such a clever use of actors and scenes from movies," Kate prompted. "Castle? Weren't you telling me about that one film?"

He sighed and his shoulders hunched, but he merely shot her a baleful glare and started talking about his limited knowledge of movie icons.

And Martha seemed to really listen.

It was always easier than he was afraid of, Kate had found. It was always so much worse in his head.

* * *

Martha had led them to a wine bar just down the street from the theatre; they ordered desserts and if the conversation ran aground a few times, it didn't seem to dampen Martha's spirits.

Kate found Castle had eased somewhat at her side, that when he spoke, his words were less grave and more natural. She held his hand under the table and did her best to keep things going smoothly.

Still, she should've expected Castle would bring it up.

"My father is gone," he said into a silence. "Black is gone. He left."

Martha paused mid-bite, her fork still in the air, cheesecake waiting to be had. Kate sighed inwardly and squeezed Castle's fingers, but he didn't seem to get the message.

"So if you were worried about him. . ."

"Oh, darling, I'm - even if he's. . .there's still so much that can go wrong."

Kate stiffened at the unexpected information, felt Castle go rigid as well. Something _had_ happened between them then. Something caused Martha to be cagey about the truth.

"Martha," she said softly, suddenly wanting to press the older woman for details. To finally know.

Castle's hand in hers was so tight she thought he might break her bones, but she held on, watched the woman shift in her seat and bring her wine to her lips.

"Mother," he said then. His voice sounded choked. "Just - tell me. What he did. Because if I know, then I can do something about it."

"Nothing to be done," Martha sighed. Her eyes shifted back to his and there was a sheen in them that could be pride or sorrow. "It's over now. Too late."

She felt Castle go still beside her; probably his disappointment was crushing, more so because there'd been a moment where they'd both thought that Martha might reveal her secrets.

And then Castle leaned in. "We've been going to therapy," he started. Kate shot him a swift, surprised glance but he didn't look at her. "It's helped. Us. Me. It's helped and - this is something I need to know, Mother. I need to know why you left me to him."

Martha made a fluttering movement with her hand, pain etched into her forehead as she pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

Kate turned her head and put her cheek against Castle's shoulder, closed her eyes to the back of the booth. Martha had looked so frail for a moment there, so beaten, and Kate couldn't do it to her.

Castle was quivering at her side. Actually shaking. She could feel his hands in fists, the taut line of his thigh next to hers.

"Please," he got out.

Kate sucked in a breath and lifted her head from his shoulder, turned back around to face Martha.

If the woman was going to deny her own son some answers even after he'd _begged_-

Kate could do it to her. For Castle. She could, most definitely, interrogate this woman.

"Martha," she started. "I know you want to tell us. You want it to be known. Just. . .tell the story."

Martha pressed a hand over her eyes and closed her mouth.

Oh no. Kate was not having that.

* * *

The story came out of Martha in fits and starts, like the truth was being dragged from her bodily. Castle sat with his hands on his knees and tried not to lean in and badger her, she was his mother, but it was a near thing. Kate was doing all the talking, thank goodness, leading the witness to deeper revelations.

Martha had a flair to her story-telling that made him feel like he was five years old again. And at the same time, there was a heavy rage in him that had begun to build, layer by layer, until he wasn't sure he could speak.

"I was a single mother, and I took up the role as if it were the greatest of my life. I threw everything I had into it, and if everything I had wasn't enough, there was nothing I could do to change that. So I refused to think about it."

Of course she had. She could never be wrong.

"Martha," Kate said quietly. "I know you did everything you could. And if you just couldn't do it anymore, we'd understand."

"No, no one can possibly understand," she said dramatically. "Katherine. You have no idea what it was like."

He fisted his hands and pressed his back to the booth, tried to keep from stalking out. He tried to tell himself that he didn't want this information; he didn't need it. The woman wasn't even talking to him any longer. She was addressing everything to Kate.

"My son was the rapscallion - always in trouble, always making mischief. That devlish gleam to his eye and that sly smile. He got away with murder."

But she was gazing at him now - both women were, actually - gazing like they were smitten. Kate and Martha both, and it was Kate who reached out and squeezed his knee but it was Martha who put a hand on his forearm and patted him.

His chest was too tight, his shirt banding at his biceps like he was the damn Hulk.

"What a beautiful boy," Martha murmured.

What?

"You were a delight," she sighed.

How did he go from being a rapscallion and a devil to a delight?

"He's still rather beautiful," Kate said, leaning in against him and - shit - making him blush. Maybe it was the rage that fed deep in his guts that brought the flame to his neck.

Martha laughed, a dry and forcefully gay thing - and then she released his forearm and took a healthy swallow of her wine. "Well, cheers to finding a woman who will see the beauty in you."

If he didn't get a straight answer, he was going to burst.

"Martha," Kate prompted, apparently privy to his innermost thoughts (he had no doubt). "Martha, can you tell us what made you leave him at boarding school?"

"I was a poor excuse for a mother. Really, I was," she went on, holding up a hand even though no one had tried to stop her.

"You weren't until that moment," he growled.

Martha's eyes jerked up to his with a vulnerability that scared the shit out of him. Instinctively, reflexively, he jerked forward and caught her hands in his, his breathing shallow, his five year old self demanding he protect everything innocent and charming in his mother. But Martha withdrew her hands from his and folded them against her chest, mouth quivering.

"Castle," Kate chided, and she moved around the table to sit with his mother.

And he was glad. Thank God for his wife.

* * *

Kate wrapped her arm around Martha and hugged her tightly, saw the relief flare in Castle's eyes. Because he'd wanted to, she could tell, but he'd been stopped by his own indignation.

She wrapped her arm through his mother's and held on tightly, kept her gaze off of Castle to study Martha. She hated herself a little, but she knew this was the moment to press. "Tell us what happened. I think it can only help. He's gone, you know. Black is gone."

"He's - I loved him once. I did. I have no idea what happened. One day he was mine and then the next day it was like I was everything despicable to him. He couldn't stand me. He said I made him weak."

Kate's skin shivered. She'd heard that before. Was it all women, or just the ones who loved their spies?

"Did he. . .keep track of you and Rick?" she murmured. "Did he try to see your son?"

Martha took a steadying breath and shook her head. "He disappeared. Without a trace. It hurt me at first, of course it did, but I quickly realized I was better off without him. He'd become churlish. Distant."

"Mother," Castle rasped, and Kate turned her eyes back to him but he was shaking his head. Unable to go on.

"Martha, what happened when Rick was five?"

The older woman took another gulp of her wine, didn't set the glass back down. Her other hand was still wrapped around Kate's on her arm, and she turned into her with a strange emptiness in her eyes.

"Darling Katherine. He came back."

She blinked. "Who? Black?"

Martha shrugged, but it was a bleak thing.

"Black approached _you_?" Castle said harshly. "When? Why?"

"He saw I'd been struggling financially. I couldn't afford day care, so I had you with me at rehearsals. You were a darling. You got into everything; I always found you coddled by some ingenue in her dressing room, make-up on your face, a huge grin. . ."

Kate couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up out of her chest, saw it breaking the tension in Castle's body too. She smiled at him. "Oh, sweetheart, you were the star of the show."

Castle rolled his eyes, but she saw the flush on his face and the sense of awe stealing over him. He didn't remember these stories and he'd never had anyone to retell them, so of course he was falling under his mother's spell.

What she wouldn't give for her own mother back, for a night like this, reliving old memories.

"When I found the boarding school - oh, it was a godsend. I'd needed that, and they were offering a discounted price, and how was I to know?"

"Know what?" Castle whispered.

"That he was setting me up. That he was squeezing me out."

Kate tightened her grip on Martha's arm, tried to lend her some support. She knew firsthand how conniving Black could be.

"What did he do?" Castle said. Kate could see the heat rising in him again.

"He'd send me reports about how well you were doing. On parent days, I could never manage to visit - I wouldn't know about them ahead of time or he'd lie his way around them. I meant to - oh, darling. I meant to."

"But he orchestrated things so that you never went back," Kate finished, the whole thing clear to her. "And then he convinced you - didn't he? - that a boy needed his father more. That a boy shouldn't be getting makeovers from pretty young starlets and watching his mother entertain men."

Martha closed her eyes.

"Fuck him," Castle growled. "Fuck the-"

"Castle," she hissed. Kate waited until his gaze met hers in a hot flash of confrontation, but he dropped his head and shut his mouth.

"Martha," she said quietly. "I wish it'd been different. But we don't blame you. Rick doesn't blame you. We know how Black can be."

Castle made a strangled noise and pressed his fists into the table top.

Kate took a breath and glanced up at Castle, tried to ask permission with just a look. He didn't seem to see her; he was staring at Martha.

She went ahead and did it anyway. "Martha, deceiving people was his job. He was a CIA agent. Castle's father was a spy."


	8. Chapter 8

**Close Encounters 7**

* * *

His mother looked so _blank_ at the news.

Like she hadn't any idea how to compose her face to reflect anything of what she felt. Or maybe she felt nothing, he mused. Maybe it had been too long and buried too deeply.

"I don't want you to worry about him any longer," he said quietly. "Whatever he did to you then, he can't do to you now."

"He was a spy," Martha stated flatly, her eyes curiously, frighteningly, empty.

Kate was patting her arm and holding her up, and again, again, Castle was so thankful for his wife.

"Martha. I'm a spy as well. He groomed me for it. For this life. That's why he wanted me."

Martha seemed to shrink before his very eyes.

"It's okay, it's okay," Kate was saying, soothing but strong, her arm around the older woman now and swaying with her.

"Oh, _God_," Martha keened. Tears had sprung to her eyes and her exclamation had people turning to look at them.

"Hush," he muttered, a strange sense of panic welling up in him. "Kate, make her stop crying."

Kate shot him a dirty look and rubbed his mother's back.

"Martha, do you want to have this conversation back at our house?" she murmured. "Or maybe even tomorrow after you've had some time? We can get breakfast."

"She's not a morning person," Castle said dryly, but his chest was clenched too tightly for the nonchalance to exactly sound real.

His mother's head lifted, something burning in her eyes. "You remember."

Castle's mouth opened but nothing came out.

"He remembers," Kate said quietly. "It comes out like that when he's not thinking about it. I think he just didn't want to let himself remember. What he'd lost."

Martha let out another choked sob, like an animal in distress, and his panic crested, made him clutch at the table and beseech Kate.

"Please make her stop," he hissed. "Kate. She's-"

"Calm down, love." She shook her head at him, her arm still around his mother. "Jeez, you two. Drama llamas."

"What?" he choked out, staring at her. Drama _what?_

"Melodramatic. You know, I thought when I first met you that you were just very serious. But it's all _drama_, Castle. You take yourself too seriously, but it's this right here." She gestured to his mother and he stared at her.

"What."

She was grinning at him. Martha was chuckling now; her laughter had a hysterical tinge to it that he didn't like, but Kate was right. And she'd broken the tension.

"Oh, darling. She's got us pegged."

Kate was right. His mother was being dramatic. Overly so. It was real, of course it was, but it was also. . .just how she did things. He remembered that too - the all-day productions over one tiny incident.

And how his father had beat that out of him.

So yeah. He took himself too seriously and Kate had been the one to make him ease up on himself, on all of this, and now. . .

Now he saw where loosening that tight control had given him the freedom to be a little-

Melodramatic?

"Oh, Richard," his mother sighed. Happily, it seemed. "You know I named you for the play - Richard III."

"The. . .hunchback?" Kate laughed. "Oh, that's adorable."

"No, his nephew - King Edward's son," Martha sighed out. "The lost prince."

Castle sucked in a startled breath and his eyes flew to Kate's.

Drama llama. That was all. Just - drama.

But it affected him nonetheless.

She was his mother. And she had loved him.

* * *

They walked his mother back to her apartment and when Martha lifted a trembling hand to blow them kisses, Kate gathered her up into a hug once more, tried to put as much feeling into it as she could.

Martha had been hurt by Black as well. Blackened. It wasn't the woman's fault; she'd loved the man once and had mistakenly assumed Black would love his son the way he should, if he didn't still love his son's mother.

"Thank you, Katherine," Martha whispered fiercely.

"My pleasure," she hummed back and then let go. She turned to Castle but he was moving in, pushing past her, and then his arms were coming around his mother as well.

Kate watched in silence, stunned by the gesture but so proud of him for it. He released Martha all too soon, but she could see what good it had done the woman. Martha smiled tremulously and patted Castle's arm, said a stronger good-bye.

When Martha disappeared inside her door, Kate took Castle's hand in hers as they turned on the sidewalk, laced their fingers together.

"You okay?" she asked finally.

He shrugged, and she was content to let the silence remain. It was a shared silence, a shared emotion between them, and she didn't need to dissect it.

Kate laid her cheek to his shoulder for a moment, closing her eyes and letting him lead before straightening her spine once more and facing the night. Castle let out a long sigh and fished his phone out of his pocket; she saw he'd missed three calls.

The Director, no doubt.

But Castle hid his phone away and didn't speak.

When they got home, he took Sasha outside while Kate mounted the stairs for their bedroom. She undressed in silence and slid on pajama pants, a soft cotton tshirt that had been his, and then she heard him coming back inside.

The dog's collar rattled as Sasha made for the extra bedroom, still filled with boxes, and then Kate could feel the change in the air as Castle brought summer's humidity into the room with him.

She turned and she was in his arms, his mouth slanting over hers and sealing in her words. She took his kiss, stroked her tongue inside the heat of him, and swallowed his groan. She skimmed her hands down the taut line of his abs and to his pants.

He grunted and walked her backwards. "Undress me," he said with a gruff, pushed them both to the bed.

Kate snagged him by the tie and pulled him down into her, his body heavy over hers, her legs hooking around his hips to anchor him. Castle groaned and shoved his hands up under her shirt, stroking hard, kneading her hips. She arched and worked at the knot of his tie, maddening in its construction, and then she gave up.

"Fuck it," she muttered. "Essential pieces only."

He laughed, but it strangled in his throat when she went straight for the zipper of his pants.

* * *

Beckett luxuriated in the soft satin of his skin and the bedsheets, took in a deep breath before opening her eyes.

Dusk had fallen. Sasha had - at some point - crawled into bed with them as well, which tamped down on Kate's lust but really didn't extinguish it. She slid an arm up and found Castle's-

um.

Ass?

Kate lifted her head and laughed, blushed hard as she realized they were flipped head to toe in the bed after. . .yeah. That. Her feet were on the pillow, his were hanging off the bed, and she leaned in and put her mouth on his ankle for a kiss.

She turned it into a bite and he jerked awake, so Beckett slithered the right way up and shifted to lie down over his back, pressing her body against his. A dark chuckle vibrated through him, made her insides turn to liquid, and she kissed the warm skin at his shoulder blade.

"You have absolutely worn me out," he muttered.

"I'm good like that," she smiled. He laughed again and an arm came back, clumsy and groping, to find her ass. She wriggled against him and rolled off, let him turn in bed to cuddle her at his side.

"You're good. Period."

"I've heard that before."

"Better only be hearing it from me."

"Hmm, actually. . ."

"No. Don't tell me if it's not."

She grinned again and he looked like he was bracing himself, gripping her upper arm and wincing. So melodramatic.

"Actually, yes. Only you, Castle. Only heard it from you. You do like to lavish me with praise. You're quite wordy."

He grinned at that, brought her in so close that their skin sealed together, still warm and humid. "What a good word. I like to lavish," he murmured, rolling it around. "I love to lavish."

"And I love that tongue," she sighed.

He laughed again and _snuggled_ into her, soft and tender where their language was rough and crude. It was ridiculous how her heart fluttered and her very soul trembled before him. Ridiculous.

And necessary to life.

She sighed and brushed her lips against his. "I don't know how exactly we got here, but wow."

"I think it's because you said _lie down_ and then I said-"

She slapped his shoulder and he laughed, his grin infectious. Then she was grinning back and rolling her eyes and suddenly he tightened his arms around her and buried his nose at her neck, all humor gone.

"I know what you mean," he muttered. "With my mother today, Kate. . .I'm amazed at the depths of your intelligence, your compassion. . ."

She pressed her lips to the side of his face and he lifted his head from her, let out a long sigh. His eyes were that blue she loved which always ran to grey. His lips quirked.

"And the depths of your hotness."

She chuckled, skimming her fingertips up his jaw, caressing his ear. He was grinning, a wink as his hand came up between them, their arms tangling for a moment, and then he stroked down her nose.

She felt her lashes fluttering shut and then the soft pressure of his mouth over hers for a kiss.

"Wow is right," he murmured.

* * *

She answered the phone half-asleep and from underneath Castle's broad furnace of a body.

"Beckett."

"Detective. This is Director-"

She jerked upright. "Sir." Kate tried to untangle herself from Castle, but the man was like an octopus in his sleep. "Sir, I relayed your message."

"You have?"

"Yes, sir," she assured him. "I have." Castle's arm had fallen across her waist when she sat up and now his palm - oh, whew, not good.

"I've tried calling him a few times-"

"Sir, I'm sorry to be so blunt, but I think Agent Castle is waiting until after our wedding reception. A family thing."

"Ah."

She winced and took a deep breath to explain, but it caused Castle's fingers to hit - oh, shit, she could not be having this conversation like this. Kate reached down and curled her hand over his wrist, eased his arm up. . .

He resisted.

"Detective Beckett?"

She snapped her head to Castle and saw his eyes were wide open and treacherously, evilly amused.

"Sir," she got out.

"I believe the wedding reception is this Friday?"

Castle's fingers curled and skimmed her bare flesh; she locked her arm muscles to keep him from going any farther.

"Yes, sir. Friday."

"And I can expect him. . ."

"Monday morning," she promised, an eyebrow raised at Castle.

"All right. He and I are going to have a talk about this lack of communication."

Kate stifled a growl. "He and I are going to have a talk about this too."

The call ended and Kate tossed her phone lightly to the rug, turned in bed to glare at him.

He was still grinning. "You gonna punish me for-"

She slapped a hand over his mouth and leaned over him, glittering with furious arousal. "Punishing you would only be like rewarding you. Instead, you get to reward _me_ for running interference with your boss - three times now."

"Only three? I bet I can make you-"

"Try it," she growled, and slid her thigh over his.

* * *

She propped her chin on her fist and watched him sleep, the deep rise and fall of his broad chest and the harsh jut of his ribs. He'd lost weight, and while she knew that was partly due to his renewed training, she also knew it was the sleeplessness and the nightmares and the last few months.

Kate herself was worn out; it'd been one of those weeks that had seemed non-stop, but they hadn't really done anything. Just the therapy and his mother, but the emotional issues, the work of sifting through it all - that had taken it out of her.

Still she could see that the therapy had already been good for them; it'd been a long time since he'd fallen asleep after sex, dropped right off like this. A long time since he'd felt safe enough, a long time since he'd been able to let go so completely.

Kate brushed her fingers through the hair on his forehead, stroked her thumb at his cheek. She trailed her touch down to his ribs and the muscle rippled under her hand. But he stayed asleep.

Certain of that at least, she slipped out of bed and pulled the covers up to his waist, leaned in to kiss his forehead. He smelled of shampoo and sweat, a strange and lovely combination that made her stomach flutter.

Kate wanted so much for him, so much for the both of them, and it would take time. But he could laugh with her father and gut fish calmly on the back porch, he could even attend his mother's play and have drinks with her afterwards, have a real conversation. It wasn't going to be smooth sailing from here on out, but it was progress.

It gave her hope.

There were many things about his job that she found disconcerting, a handful that she thought were appalling. But he'd presented a good case for her working from the inside, trying to effect change in the ways she could.

Kate shrugged on a shirt - it happened to be his - and tugged a pair of pajama pants over her hips. Her bare feet made no noise on the carpet runner down the hall, and she brushed her hair back from her face, pushed it behind her ear. The house was warm but quiet, and the early morning light made delicate patterns on the hardwood.

She stepped into the foyer and took a deep breath, remembering how Castle had stood there in the stained glass mosaic of light and how beautiful he was. A beautiful man. He always struggled so hard, to be more than just a man following orders, more than the CIA's machine. He fought against the training and the code instilled in him by his father, and he fought to be that better man.

She could fight for him too. Even if it meant going to the CIA and no longer being an NYPD detective. She could partner him in the work of national security, so long as they did it together. So long as they fought for the good and for truth.

The light was heating her skin, touching her hair with warmth.

She had to tell him her decision.

She grinned and followed the path of the sunlight along the floor of the dining room and into the kitchen.

She'd tell him after the reception; that could be his wedding gift.

* * *

He woke from that sluggish dream of freezing to death in a boxcar only to find that the sheet was twisted around his ankles, the bed was empty, and he was naked.

He smelled coffee.

Mmmm, that was good.

He glanced around the room, still mentally challenged after that nightmare of ice, but he had no idea where Kate had gone. If she was even here. What the hell time was it?

Shit, he hated that dream. The way her hands had felt tucked against his ribs, the desperate choke in his throat, the slump of her body into his as she lost consciousness, knowing that was it - they were done.

Castle scraped a hand down his face and then reached for the covers, tried to untangle everything. Goose bumps raced across his flesh and then died down, some remnant of ice, and he tried to wake up.

Just then the door cracked open and the smell of coffee magnified in the room. There was his wife, sauntering into the bedroom with a mug in her hands and her eyes on it to keep it from spilling.

She got to the side of the bed and glanced up at him with that sexy, shy smile she had, hair falling down and tumbling at her shoulders, the pajama pants so loose that he imagined all it would take would be a sharp tug of his fingers.

He reached out for the coffee instead, taking it from her, and she grinned wider and sank to her knees on the mattress at his hip, sitting back on her feet.

"Morning, honey."

He choked on his first sip of coffee, laughing at her, eyebrows raised, and she just bit her lip and grinned back.

"Oh no, not-uh. I'll let you get away with 'sweetheart' because you sound adorable when you say that, but _honey_?"

"In case you forgot, love, _you _started sweetheart." She laughed as she leaned in, kissed his morning-coffee breath regardless, lingering, her fingers drawing down his jaw, and then she was back on her feet again, watching him.

"You're really happy this morning," he noted, grousing a little because he had no idea what time it was and this was their last day off together before the wedding reception stuff. They had the weekend at the bed and breakfast, of course, but this was their last week day in their own home.

"I am really happy this morning," she agreed with a grin. Her hand came to rest on top of his bare thigh and her fingers did that playful dance up and in that had him choking on his coffee again.

"Jeez," he muttered, but he just stared down at her hand in his lap and made no effort to resist.

"I can make you happy too, Castle."

"I'm all for that."

She took the coffee mug away from him and put it on the bedside table.

And then she took up right where she'd left off.

* * *

The morning was cooler than she'd expected and so they kept walking, heading for the park so Sasha could run around for an hour or so. Kate pushed her hands into her pockets and couldn't help the smile that slid to her mouth, remembering how she woke him up.

"We're having a lot of sex for a married couple," he mused.

Kate tripped over the dog even as she choked on a laugh, reached out to grab his arm to keep her balance. He grinned and held her steady until she was on her feet, and then he switched the leash to his other hand and took hold of hers.

"Huh. You think so?" she asked, trying to go for serene. She struggled to keep the blush from her face, but it was a lost cause.

Oof. This _morning_.

"I'm pretty sure married couples are supposed to be old and stuffy."

"Well, we've always been different, Castle."

"I think you and I heal emotionally with sex."

She slapped at his ribs. He just grinned and shrugged.

"Heal emotionally with sex?" she repeated, scoffing. But it had some. . .merit. It actually made sense.

"You know what the worst was? The worst I ever felt. About all of this. It was after you were shot."

The smile dropped off her face and she glanced to the sidewalk, but his hand was still firmly in hers. "Yeah? I felt pretty shitty about everything then too."

"I don't mean - it wasn't a depression or anything. It was not knowing if I was any good for you. Thinking maybe my way of life was always going to hold us back. Not being sure I could even protect you after I'd opened up this can of worms with your mother's case. I'd made you promises, Kate, and I wasn't sure I could actually keep them."

She stepped a little closer to him as they walked; they were a far cry from the people they'd been then. She'd been that damaged, obsessive woman who'd needed someone to physically restrain her from plunging down a terrible, endless hole-

Someone _had_ physically restrained her.

Castle.

"I felt like," he started suddenly, "I felt that when I couldn't touch you - when it just made it worse, put you in pain, that made everything so much darker, so terrible. But after we were up in the hayloft. . ."

She leaned into his arm and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. "Yeah. I know." She'd been desperate for him, and she'd had to practically seduce him to do it, but everything really had been better from that moment on.

"We were back. Together again. It was okay - all the terrible things could be overcome when I could - when we connected like that."

She stroked her thumb over his and took a breath, watched the dog pulling at the leash to get at a fire hydrant.

"We started out like that, Castle," she said finally. "When we first met. We started out - connecting."

He huffed out a little laugh and they stopped on the sidewalk to let Sasha investigate a trash can, her nose to the plastic.

"We do some amazing connecting," Castle grinned.

She nodded, lifted an eyebrow, but she was serious. "And. It's kinda the thing that saved me. At first - with my mother's case - if you'd just been kind and tried to take care of me and been sweet like you are. . .it wouldn't have made a dent in me. I'd have dropped you so fast, run so far-"

"I think I knew that. On some level. And you responded to the sex," he added, a little shrug of his shoulders and a tentative smile. "I could find you again when we were in bed together. I could. . .love you. And you'd accept it."

She gripped his hand tighter, tried to make her eyes show him everything. "I did. And I loved you back. Did you. . .feel that? Did you know?"

His hand let go of hers and she sucked in a breath, but he was only reaching up to skate his fingers through her hair, push it back over her ear.

"Why do you think we're here?" he murmured. "If I hadn't known how much you loved me - even then - I'd never have stayed. I needed it too much. Need you, Kate. I've never had this before; it's everything."

She smiled back at him through the haze in her eyes, forced herself not to cry out in public on the sidewalk with the dog nosing at trash. She lifted on her toes and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, lingered there for a moment before touching her tongue there.

When she stepped back, she had to catch the leash right as he dropped it, her laugh bubbling out into the morning light.

"That connecting thing?" he rasped, blinking at her. "It helps that you're sexy as hell, Kate Beckett."

She tugged Sasha away from the trash can and hooked her arm through Castle's, leading him as well. "Helps that you're so good at it too."

"I _am_ good at it. I really am. Actually, wait. I think I'm just really, _really_ good at you."

She snorted.

But that was true.

Maybe _that_ was they they were still here. They were good at each other.


	9. Chapter 9

**Close Encounters 7**

* * *

Friday morning proved to be a repeat of their drive earlier in the week, only this time they'd packed a suitcase and Sasha's stuff as well. The wolf would be staying with Jim while they were at the bed and breakfast this weekend, and the house was secure, alarm set, and Castle was looking forward to it.

He let Kate drive, because he knew she preferred it and because he was slowly weaning himself of the need to be in control. He tilted his seat back and dozed, surprised that he could actually relax enough to do that, but willing to take the opportunity.

When he woke, she'd pulled to a stop at a gas station and was clicking off the radio. He rubbed his eyes and she smiled slyly at him.

"You talk in your sleep," she murmured.

"Oh? Yeah. I think I've been told that before."

"I guess I'm usually asleep," she chuckled. "You're cute. You don't make any sense, but you're cute."

"Well. . .thanks," he drawled, sitting up now and twisting to stretch his back. "We stopping here for a bathroom break?"

"Yeah. Sasha was getting restless and I'm starving."

He popped off his seatbelt and opened the door, following her out. Sasha jumped down at his side but heeled, didn't try to dart away.

"Kate? You got the leash?" he called over his shoulder, reaching down to tuck his fingers in the wolf's collar. Just in case.

"Yeah, here," she rushed, coming around the car. "I thought she was getting out with me. Should've known better; it's you she loves best."

He rolled his eyes at her but she was grinning, and then Kate leaned down and clipped the leash to the dog's collar, handed it over to him.

"I want food; you take her," she said, lifting on her toes and kissing his cheek. "You want something, sweetheart?"

Calling him sweetheart again. He wouldn't be able to break her of it, would he? Better than super spy, and maybe it had the same rhythm. "Water," he answered. "And something to snack on."

"I got you covered." She patted his jaw and strode off, so he sighed and glanced down at the dog.

"All right. Let's get this done, Sasha."

* * *

They weren't the first to arrive.

"What the hell?" he growled.

Kate slapped his shoulder and opened the car door; this time Sasha bounded out on her side and ran off towards the lake behind her father's cabin. Castle got out and came around, his hands on his hips.

"It's Ryan and Jenny," she said calmly. "They've been a lot of help."

"I know," he sighed. "Just thought we'd. . .have a moment."

"We've had plenty of moments, Rick. And plenty more to come."

He glanced at her, a little surprised maybe, but he gave her a sheepish grin and started unloading the car. She went on inside to find her father, but ran into Jenny as the woman came out to greet them.

"Kate! Oh, you're here. Sorry we were early. Kevin's a little nervous, I think."

"He's rather punctual." Kate grinned past Jenny where she could Ryan helping her father lug bags of charcoal out back.

"Not just that," Jenny laughed, a shake of blonde hair. "Something about both of you being his bosses?"

Kate pressed her lips together and tried to keep back the laugh. How far would this go - this osmosis? Their secrets had the tendency to diffuse among the group, like a solution poured into water, seeking equilibrium. First Beckett, then the boys, now Jenny and her father and Martha as well. . .

"I'm his boss," Castle said suddenly from behind her, a gallant rescue. "That's right. He works for me."

He said it so jokingly, so smart-aleck, that Kate could tell that Jenny took it as sarcasm and kept going, guiding them back into the kitchen where she started washing her hands at the sink.

Over her shoulder, she filled them in. "I made the potato salad at home - I thought it would be too messy here - but we've still got macaroni salad and pasta salad left to do. Your dad and Kev are working on getting the grill going, and apparently, there's plenty of fish."

Castle laughed. "Yeah, which _I _gutted and cleaned."

"Which we thank you for," Kate smiled, reaching out to hook her fingers in his shirt and tug. He danced his eyebrows at her and came in for a kiss, a smacking of lips that made her laugh.

"I'll see if your Dad and Ry need help, but after I bring the cooler inside."

She straightened up, looked at him with askance.

"I put the chicken in the cooler. And some other stuff we need." He reached out and tweaked a strand of hair from her braid, tugging it free. "Jenny asked me to bring stuff because we all know I'm the one who can cook."

Jenny pealed with laughter, but Kate just scowled at him and scraped her hair back off her face. "Go on then, Martha Stewart."

He huffed back at her but left them there and went out to the car. Kate turned around to Jenny and took over the woman's spot at the sink, flicking on the water and washing her hands.

"He's right, though. I have no idea how to do most of this stuff, so just put me to work."

* * *

When Lanie arrived, everything went into an upheaval. She'd brought with her most of the decorations - and the ideas - and with a few other officers from the 12th closely behind her, they had to get going.

Castle ended up in the kitchen with Jenny while Kate went with Lanie, Ryan and her father down to the lake to set up tables and decorations. The reception would be all outdoor, a big cookout dinner so people would be able to come and go as they wished. And with the summer sun setting down over the water, her father's dock looked like she could walk right out onto a path of golden light.

Gorgeous.

She hadn't really thought about all the people who'd missed out on her wedding to Castle; she'd only been so surprised - and a little charmed - by having it in the first place. So they'd simply filed with the state of New York and she'd forgotten about it.

Until Castle had brought it up, thinking she needed more. Deserved more? Something. She'd initially dismissed it, because it seemed ridiculous, but then she'd realized she was wearing his wedding ring and she loved him and yet almost no one even _knew_ him.

Her father, the boys. But the wider range of her family, her friends from college, the little family at the 12th. And then there was Castle's tightly-knit group: Carrie Eastwood, a guy from DC that Kate hadn't meant before, a mentor of his and Eastwood's from back in the day, and a combat buddy who'd served with him in Afghanistan.

All people she didn't know, and who didn't know her.

Time to fix that, to make sure Castle knew she wasn't ashamed and she didn't need anything more, but that she could stand at his side like he needed.

"Katie."

She jerked her head back to the group who were milling closer to the house, reluctantly moved away from the lake to see what her father wanted.

"What about this?"

She glanced at the tables and then lifted a smile to him. "Perfect, Dad. Thank you."

He seemed to understand what she meant, because he reached out and wrapped his arms around her.

"Happy for you, Katie. Just really happy for you."

* * *

Castle wanted to see her before everyone else did, wanted to have a moment to themselves where his face wouldn't be scrutinized and the catcalls wouldn't be flying and he could drink her in.

So he sneaked away from the grill like the spy he was and headed inside before anyone could notice. Already her father's backyard was mobbed with guests, mostly guys from the 12th who had carpooled together, and the locals that were friends of her father or had known the Becketts for a long time were filling in the ranks.

Mitchell from the DC office had gotten in just a few minutes ago, and he was already flirting with Lanie and squaring up against Espo, the two of them eyeing each other. Just like Mitchell. His training officer, Iggy Malone (though no one was _ever_ allowed to use his first name), had joined Mitchell as well, a grizzled guy egging on the two rivals.

He had yet to see Carrie or his Army buddy, Striker, but he'd actually been hoping to introduce Mitch to Carrie. See what happened. Eastman had worked with Mitchell a few times; they'd known each other but not well. Not enough for Mark Eastman to ghost whatever might happen or could happen between them.

Not that Carrie _needed_ anyone, but that house had to be rambling and empty, and as he'd come to discover, having someone was so nice. Stupid, but he wanted Carrie to just have someone. Even if it all that happened was she gained a friend.

Castle paused in the hallway leading back to the guest bedroom, taking a breath and smoothing his hands down his dark wash jeans. She'd picked them out this morning, told him in that silky tone, _Sweetheart, it's casual_, and replaced his dress pants on their hangar. He hooked a finger at his tie - he hadn't let her take it away when he'd seen a glimpse of dress and shoes in her garment bag - and then he rapped once on the door before going in.

She was standing in yellow sunlight in a white, knee-length dress, the neckline a sharp vee bordered in blue and gold textile work so that her eyes were so green they made him ache.

"Kate," he breathed out, standing struck in the doorway as she turned to him.

"Hey, there," she smiled, reaching out a hand for him.

He came automatically, his feet moving before his brain processed, and then he bypassed her hand to skim his palms at her narrow waist, the flare of her hips in that soft, white cotton. It'd be a peasant dress if it didn't cling to her curves so well, didn't have lace overlaying the skirt, like some kind of barely reformed naughty negligee.

"This is amazing," he murmured and then lifted his eyes to meet hers. "You look amazing."

She gave him that soft, summer smile - warm and easy and content - and then she was curling her arms at his neck and swaying into him. He slid his hands to her back and gasped at the feel of bare skin beneath more tantalizing, thin lace.

She grinned wider and turned slowly in his arms so he could see the back, the panel that rose to just under her shoulder blades in sheer, white mesh with embrodiered blue feathers and gold flowers and green vines spanning her ribs.

She looked like a work of art.

Castle leaned in and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, slipped his hand around to her neck to stroke down between her breasts at the bare, faintly golden skin there. His fingers curled in the chain she wore, a long gold thing with a pendant hanging from it.

She turned back around and met his mouth with hers, a heated kiss as her tongue stroked his, and he found his fingers tangled in her necklace, unable to let go.

It wasn't her mother's ring. It wasn't his wedding ring or her engagement ring - they were both wearing those where they belonged.

It was just a necklace, a bright blue piece of weathered glass hanging on a chain, and it seemed to be freedom itself.

Their new life cradled in his hands, held close to her heart.

* * *

She loved the way he looked at her in this dress.

Not that he didn't look at her with that same heat at other times, but his fingers along the lace at her back, the way she could almost feel his skin against her - that little thrill had kept them both on edge all afternoon.

Lanie stuck by her side through most of the official parts - toasts and cake and _gifts_, even though they'd told everyone not to. House-warming presents, most of them really, and sweet too. An expensive looking espresso machine from the guys at the 12th, all of whom ducked their heads when she went around to personally thank them, saying it had been Kevin and Javier's idea.

Carrie had given them a family tree album where they could insert information about everyone who mattered, regardless of blood relation. It was a beautiful, leather-bound thing that looked old rather than store-bought, and the way Castle reverently handled it when Kate showed it to him made her think it had once been Eastman's, or at least similar. She hugged Carrie around the neck, tightly, and whispered her thanks in the woman's ear.

Jenny and Ryan had gotten Sasha a few toys, a huge bone - and Castle went right ahead and opened one of the rope toys and played with the wolf while Kate received the rest of the gifts. Apparently Castle was done. His friend Mitchell was being pretty buddy-buddy with him too, holding a beer and saying something about the dog which made Castle laugh.

So Kate kept opening gifts.

It wasn't a lot, but each item was thoughtful, in a way Kate hadn't been expecting. Despite being afraid that no one important to them even _knew_ them, she and Castle had somehow shared with their friends and family how it was with them, the way love had swallowed them both whole, creating something that they all could see was beautiful and positive.

And good.

She saw it on Castle's face too. The way he studied each person and internalized the goodwill and congratulations and sincerity their friends offered. Castle must feel it then - the rightness of them being amplified and magnified and _blessed_ by the support of everyone here today.

All the therapy hours in the world couldn't ease a heart like this one afternoon.

Kate got up from the picnic table and went to her father, wrapped her arms around him in a hug that she tried to make mean everything she needed it to.

"Thank you for doing this," she murmured at his cheek. "Thank you for suggesting it and forcing me to go along with it and - and thank you."

Her father squeezed her back, and then he nudged her away a little, looking in her eyes. "If there's one thing I've learned, we have to take the time to celebrate what's good and noble and true in our lives. No matter what anyone says. No matter what anyone does to us."

She knew that he was thinking about her mother, and at the same time, also thinking about Castle's father - and how easily it could be smashed and shattered, how the person could be taken away in a moment.

And of course, Kate was thinking about how she'd had to attend Castle's funeral, and she gripped her father tighter because he was right. It was all so very precious and fragile while yet being so indomitably strong.

* * *

Castle found her in a group of women inside the gazebo just past the cluster of tables; she was eating a piece of grilled chicken with her fingers, but rather daintily. Trying to avoid ruining the dress, he supposed. Lanie was at her side, along with Carrie and two older women he thought were Jim's - older sisters? sisters-in-law? - and Kate was at ease, even if she looked tired.

She had her shoes off - sandals with heels, really - and her legs were tucked up under the bench. Her bare toes wriggled when she caught sight of him and he had a hard time dragging his gaze away from the smooth lines of her toned legs, the peek of her knees.

"Castle?"

"Why do you call him that?" a voice asked, and they both whipped around to see that one of the cousins - twice-removed, something - had come in behind Castle with a plate of dessert balanced in his hands.

"Oh, thank you, Robbie. That looks so good."

Robbie flushed and handed the plate over. "I told you guys - I wanna be Rob." He stood twitching beside Lanie and then moved purposefully away from the woman who looked to be his mother: same long nose and sensual mouth. "Why'd you call him Castle?"

"Kinda like you - he doesn't always like to be called the name his father gave him."

Robbie gave a swift look up towards Castle and narrowed his eyes before sitting down next to Kate, stealing the seat that Castle had been heading for. The boy looked possessive, and Castle wondered if Kate had always been some favorite cousin or aunt or something.

"My dad calls me Robbie," the boy sighed. "Your dad calls you what?"

"Richard," he grimaced back, overdoing it for the kid's sake. "But she calls me Rick. Or Castle."

"Yeah, but Castle?"

"Nickname. I chose it. Sounds tough, right?"

"Not really," he scoffed.

Kate barked out a laugh and the mother scolded her son, her sharp tongue dragging Robbie off the bench and away from his cousin. Finally. Castle sat down at her side and squeezed in so that she was close and the unyielding wood of the gazebo was at his hip.

"It sounds tough to me, super spy," she murmured under her voice, giving him a lingering kiss of lips along his cheek.

"Your brat of a cousin hurt my feelings."

"Second cousin once removed."

"Still hurt. Share that dessert with me to make it up."

"But you eschew sugar and mindless calories," she reminded him with a raise of her brows.

"Not when I get to eat them with you."

"Off of me, you mean."

Castle barked out a laugh at that, glad no one could overhear them - or at least not Robbie. "That too. So you got your cousin to grab a plate of dessert. Are those strawberries drizzled in chocolate?"

"Mm," she hummed and already she'd abandoned her grilled chicken for the fruit. "I had to explain to poor Rob at least three times what I wanted, but I'd spotted the chocolate sauce on the table and couldn't resist."

"It's Ghiradelli, isn't it? I've seen that in your fridge before. That could be interesting."

Her face lifted to his, the strawberry pressed between the pink of her lips and the white flare of her teeth, seeds and flesh and dripping juice mixing with that syrup. She looked _interested_ and that was enough. More than enough. He was stealing that bottle of chocolate syrup and taking it with them to the bed and breakfast.

He'd pay for whatever they might ruin.

* * *

People were slow to leave, and the sun was dipping into the lake when Castle and Javier finished loading the tables into the back of Ryan's car. He shook Ry's hand and patted Javi on the back, allowed Jenny to kiss his cheeks in good-bye.

"Advice about Beckett. Don't let her walk all over you, man," Espo said with a sly grin.

"I'm pretty well whipped," Castle admitted with a shrug.

Jenny was laughing and she came in to squeeze him into another hug. "Don't listen to them. You stay like you are, Rick."

He raised an eyebrow at Kevin, who only blushed in acknowledgement, and then the couple was turning away and getting into their car. He was amused to note that Jenny was driving.

"And what about you?" Castle said, turning quickly to Espo to keep him from getting away. He clapped a hand on Javier's shoulder and gripped him hard. "You're worse than whipped when you can't even admit it."

"Me? I'm not whipped."

Castle cut a glance to where Lanie was dictating clean-up efforts on the front porch, her voice strident and commanding. Mitchell had flirted hard with her, but it was Esposito who had made a fool of himself. For the rest of the afternoon, Mitch had talked with Carrie or Castle himself; he didn't think there was anything to it.

He felt Espo growling and shifting away, glanced at the man in surprise. "Javi?"

"She's not - we're good as we are. Don't go pushing things."

"I'm the last one to meddle. Beckett would meddle, you know. She's a soft romantic at heart."

"Before you, I'd never have believed that. Now. . .maybe so. You keep her away from Lanie - scare her off real good if Beckett starts talking weddings."

He could sense that there was more, but he wouldn't ask. Enough to know that Esposito wasn't stupid when it came to seeing he had a good thing. If he kept at it, and Castle knew he would, it would work itself out. "Just so you know. Mitchell - he's just like that. Spy behavior, right? He doesn't mean it."

Espo shrugged, didn't seem to want to address that directly. "Let me find Beckett and tell her good-bye. You guys going somewhere to celebrate?"

"Bed and breakfast," he shrugged. "For the weekend. Then back to work."

Esposito nodded at that and shook Castle's hand before walking around behind the house to find Kate.

Castle would like to do the same, but he should help clean up. Her father had done a lot, and he was even getting kicked out of his own home tonight to let Castle and Beckett have the cabin to themselves before heading to the bed and breakfast tomorrow morning.

So he went inside and let Lanie rope him into washing dishes. Maybe he could find that chocolate sauce.

* * *

Kate felt the arm come around her waist and smiled back at Castle. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a little damp at the edges, and he smelled like dish soap and barbecue. She laced her fingers through his over her hip and leaned back into him.

"Beautiful," he murmured.

The woods here at the back of the cabin crowded close to the lake's edge, made the water dappled and golden, a patchwork of light as the sun sank so slowly at the horizon.

"It is," she sighed.

"You," he chuckled. "Talking about you, love."

She felt the blush climb in her cheeks because it wasn't a line, wasn't some artistic thing he'd polished - just his words and the warmth of him at her side.

"Got something for you," he said quietly, catching her hip bone with his finger and thumb and tugging a little. She'd felt him do that before in bed as he'd tucked her closer and it was a strange, intimate touch that - done wrong - could bruise. But he always managed it just right.

"A present?" she asked. "Because I got you one too. It's at home though."

"It's at home?" he laughed. She turned her head and watched the smile seep into his eyes.

"Yep. I hung it up in the bathroom."

"You did?"

"Uh-huh. You'll see it when we get back."

"Oh, come on. Tell me."

"Nope. Surprise." She'd gotten him this poster framed and hung on the wall between the shower and the sink. Against a black background the white text gave a To Do List. The first few items were checked off in red: _1. Some stuff 2. Some other stuff._ And last on the to do list was - _You._

She thought he'd really like that. And she couldn't wait to see his face when he saw it.

He shook his head and stared off over her shoulder towards the water. "Come on down to the dock with me?"

She squeezed his fingers in hers at the _question _in his voice. Had he ever asked? He mostly commanded so that she could never say no.

"Okay," she murmured and walked slowly down the embankment with him until their shoes hit the wood.

He shook her loose and withdrew his arm from her waist, but he slid his fingers down the inside of her elbow, took her hand so they could walk side by side. She came in close to him and pressed her shoulder to his, inhaling a deep breath of his cologne and work sweat.

At the end of the dock, Castle sat down at the edge and started taking his shoes off, peeling down his socks.

"What are you doing?" she laughed.

"Recreating a memory," he said, wriggling his eyebrows at her. "Sit with me."

She did, slipping her heels off and setting them next to her, the smooth wood heated under her thighs. Her dress would have to be dry cleaned, so she didn't mind pulling up the skirt to above her knees and sticking her feet in the sun-warmed water.

The ripple of lake made her turn to look at Castle; she saw he'd rolled up his pant legs and had eased his feet in as well, his arms planted wide to take his weight. He swirled his leg in the water and brought it near hers, his toes skimming her ankle, and she leaned in against his thick, strong arm.

She took a deeper breath and they stared out over the lake. His chin came to the top of her head and then his cheek, and he rested against her as well.

Kate closed her eyes, a thickness in her throat that felt like peace.

Finally.

His lips skimmed her hair and brushed her temple; she could hear him breathing softly before he spoke.

"I have something for you Kate. I went shopping, looking for the perfect thing that would celebrate today, and the home we've made together, but I. . ."

She kept her eyes closed, listening.

"Nothing was right. But I thought - maybe I could write you something."

Kate lifted her head quickly, her heart rushing a little. He'd filled her detective's notebook after his father had - after the alley - but she'd only been able to read bits and pieces as she could bear it. He'd admitted to writing those notes after he'd seen her grieving, and even still those letters made her chest ache.

She wanted this, whatever it was he'd written for her now. Clean slate. "You wrote me something?"

"It's not true. No - well, it is true. But it's not about me. It's like - a story, I guess." He was shifting and tugging something from his back pocket; she hadn't even noticed the thickness as they'd walked.

Castle pulled out a new notebook, this one black leather with creamy pages and a cord that looped around and around. "I didn't fill it up yet. I thought I could do that as we - as we go along?"

He meant as they were married, didn't he? Throughout their life together. Kate nodded and reached for the journal, her palm burning as it touched her skin. "Can I read it now?"

He actually blushed. "I - yeah. I don't know."

She bit her bottom lip and slowly unraveled the leather cord, smoothing her thumb over the cover as it was revealed. "It _would_ be black leather, wouldn't it?" she murmured, trying to dispel the tension that had crept over him.

Castle chuckled softly and leaned back on his hands, his feet lifting from the water and his eyes carefully not on her. She let him have his dignity and opened the cover.

Kate laughed, delighted with the inked drawing on the front page, the baby elephant with its wide ears, sad eyes. "Castle? Did you draw this?"

"Eh, yeah. It's kinda terrible."

"It's adorable," she hummed, lifting her eyes to him. "Look at all this talent you have, sweetheart."

"You're patronizing me."

"Little bit," she murmured, grinning at him.

He shrugged her off and grumbled a little, but his cheeks were pink. She leaned in and kissed him, sweetly at first, and then with a little more heat to it, stroking her tongue against his and pressing closer.

His fingertips against her cheek, electric and singular, made her gasp and open her eyes.

He looked completely undone. "You haven't even read it yet."

She smiled and bit her lip, pushed in to bite his as well, sucking a little. "I know. But you are irresistible."

"Mm, good to know. Now read it."

She laughed at his impatience and opened the journal again, tracing her fingers over the little elephant on the first page. She had a strange feeling about the words inside, a premonition or a burst of insight. She let herself stare at the block letters a moment before she truly took them in.

_This is a story about a little guy named James - the smallest elephant in his herd - whose mother was the fiercest and bravest, and whose father loved him so much that his stature never mattered._

_This is a story about a little guy who did amazing, huge things because his parents never stopped believing in him._

_This is a story about what matters most._

And of course, Kate was crying.

When she could finally catch her breath and look up at him, he might've been suspiciously avoiding her eyes as well.


	10. Chapter 10

**Close Encounters 7**

* * *

Jim Beckett came down the dock to say good-night, Sasha following in his wake like a lovesick puppy, so Castle got to his feet and held out a hand to shake. Instead, her father gathered him into an embrace that gripped tightly before he let go.

"Rick," he nodded, and then he was turning to Kate and hugging her as well. He said something that made her laugh, and she was patting her father's back before she released him.

Castle stood to one side and realized with a strange relief that the people who'd gathered today were more his family than anyone else had ever been. Even the tentative forays with Martha hadn't gotten anywhere close to the level of trust and reliability, of love and ease that came with this group. Forgiveness too. No matter what happened.

Sasha nudged her head into the back of his knee so he bent down and stroked her fur, rubbed between her ears in that way that made her eyes slit.

"I'm taking the dog with me. You guys be good," Jim winked, giving them a wave over his shoulder as he moved back up the dock to the bank. Sasha took a hesitant step after him but whined at Kate until she came over and hugged the wolf good-bye, and then the dog was bounding down the wood after her father. Kate was still laughing a little and Castle reached out and took her hand, fingers lacing as they watched him leave with the overgrown puppy.

They settled back down at the end of the dock, her feet dipping in the water while he crossed his legs, their hands resting on his knee. He could hear her father's truck start up and then the tires crunching on the gravel drive.

"He didn't have to leave," Castle started.

"But it's more fun this way," Kate laughed. "Those were his words actually - what he whispered in my ear."

"It's kinda terrible that your father knows exactly what we plan on doing."

"He doesn't know _exactly_," she hedged, lifting her eyebrows at him.

He watched as she stood up on the dock, her bares toes and the long line of her legs entrancing. Castle curled his fingers at her ankle and stroked his thumb over the knob of bone.

"Castle, eyes up, sweetheart. Or you'll miss it."

He lifted his gaze and saw she was unzipping her dress at the side like some secret and hidden treasure. She rolled her shoulders and slipped out of one side of the white material and then the other, and then the whole thing pooled at her hips in a cascade of blue and gold embroidery, white lace.

Last time, he'd been recovering from a stab wound and barely able to sit up. This time, he was going to participate.

Castle stood and slipped his hands to her waist, his fingers creating points of electric contact with her skin, the current between them rippling. She watched him, her eyes glowing in the blue twilight, and he slowly eased the dress off her hips.

She stepped out of it in just panties and a bra, delicate white with blue lace, and he framed the portrait she made with his hands at her ribs, and he tried to keep breathing. He really didn't want to miss this.

"Your turn, Castle," she murmured and her fingers were unbuttoning his shirt, loosening his tie.

"My turn?" he gasped out.

"We're going skinny dipping. This time - together."

"Oh yes," he said reverently and moved to help.

* * *

Kate pulled her hair up and twisted it, snapped the rubber band around the wet mess of it just to keep it together. Castle skimmed a hot hand at her waist as he moved around her on the dock, gathering their clothes, and she grinned at the sight he made, naked and firm in light of the orange moon, drops of water on his back, darkening his hair.

"Here," he murmured and turned around with his shirt held out. She grinned back and slipped her arms into the worn-soft material, letting it hang open. She saw him swallow back his lust as he stepped into his boxer briefs.

She found his hand with hers, sleeves flopping and in the way, and the damp press of skin made him stumble. Kate laughed softly and leaned her head against his bare shoulder even as he guided her up the dock.

"Don't get my dress wet," she said, wrinkling her nose at him as he held their bundle of clothes and shoes at his chest.

"Too late. You did a lot of splashing."

She laughed and turned her head to watch their wet footprints slowly evaporate and melt into the darkness, and then Castle was guiding her up to the bank and the grass was cool and soft between her toes.

"So we're staying here for the night," he started, talking to her over his shoulder as he led the way to the back porch. "And we leave tomorrow around ten, or so I figured, in order to make check in at noon."

"Good," she said. "My dad has Sasha for the weekend and we'll drive back through here to pick her up."

"And then what happens Monday?"

"And then we go to work, Castle." She reached out a hand and skimmed it at the hard plane of his back. "We go to work and we make the world safer and we. . ."

"Have a family?" he said.

She heard the catch in his voice and felt the clutch of muscle under her fingers.

"Soon," she promised. "Let's this settle first. Give us time to get the hang of - everything. Therapy, work, us - you know?"

He nodded and reached back for her, took her hand from his waist and pulled her along, side by side now as they climbed the porch steps. He pushed open the door to the cabin and the smell of dish washing soap and laundry detergent was rich in the air.

She led him past the kitchen to the hallway and down to the guest bedroom, all in one fluid movement without stopping. No more thinking tonight. No more guesses about the future or worries about the CIA or who might come to ruin everything they'd so carefully built.

No more.

"Is this chocolate syrup night?" he asked.

She laughed and turned her wide smile back to him. "Not in my dad's sheets."

"Ew."

"Exactly. Doesn't mean we can't have some other fun."

"Hell, yeah."

* * *

They were ready to leave the cabin by nine that next morning, Kate with her bare feet propped on the dashboard of his Range Rover. He watched her paint her toenails, slowly and methodically, her hair pulled back to keep it from falling in her face, and then he went back to packing.

He loaded the last of their bags; the gifts were in the very back, along with that espresso machine, which he couldn't wait to try. He flipped an old blanket down over everything and shut the back of the Rover with a thump.

He missed the dog, true enough. Stupid, but there it was. The smell of fingernail polish was heavy in the car, but she'd rolled down the windows and when they got going, he knew it would dissipate.

"Nice color," he said, watching her for a moment.

She lifted her head and grinned. "My favorite."

Oh, right. Right. Of course. Her favorite color. He grinned back, sure of himself. "Mine's blue."

"Blue," she echoed. "I like blue. Especially on you. Those beautiful eyes."

He grunted but she'd gone back to work on her toes, a pretty lilac. He'd have guessed her favorite was deeper-

"Actually, I don't love pale purple, but more that deep royal. More color than this."

"That's what I thought," he said with relish and started the car even as he still watched her. Fascinated. "Like that bra."

She laughed and lifted her eyebrows, her movement arrested as he turned the car sharply around. "And the underwear to match."

"Oh yes, can't forget that."

"But yes. That's more like it."

He chuckled and caught her eye. "That's exactly what I was thinking."

"Goof," she muttered, shaking her head at him. But he could see that pleased smile and the steady way her hand painted polish over her toes. "You know, you've gotten a lot more silly over the past year."

"Silly?" he gasped.

She slanted a look at him and he smiled to let her know he was - well, being silly. She sighed and shook her head.

"Where did my badass, silent, and deadly super spy go?"

"Yeah, he wasn't any fun."

She laughed again and twisted the cap back on her polish, wriggled her toes on the dashboard as he pulled out of her father's driveway. She adjusted the seat belt so it wasn't at her neck and he told himself to pay attention to the road.

"He was fun. He is fun," she answered. "A different kind of fun. Handcuffs kind of fun."

The rough burr of her voice tightened arousal around his spine, hooked his guts like a fish. He glanced at her, the sharp and angular line of her cheekbone and the jut of her jaw. She was putting the nail polish back into a bag and zipping it.

"When did you turn into such a gorgeous thing?" he muttered, shaking his head.

She burst out with a laugh, loosened her seat belt to prop herself closer to him on the center console, her fingers trailing along his forearm as he drove. "Was that a compliment, sweetheart?"

"I - I don't know what that was. I just - you act like my uptight spy self is a good thing, and jeez, you look like a model. I don't know how you do that."

"I haven't even taken a shower," she scoffed. Her fingers were distracting but at the same time, so comforting. The touch of her against him, constant and warm, affectionate. This wasn't the same Beckett he'd spied on for four days during that Chinese affair.

"You're different too," he said simply. "You're not as dark-"

"Or desperate," she said then, interrupting him to squeeze her fingers at his elbow tightly. "Or drowning. I'm not drowning anymore, Rick, and that's you."

"It's a mutual thing," he murmured, turning to meet her eyes for a moment. The traffic was light; he wanted to watch her as she looked at him. "I was a machine - like you said, drawn in black with no relief and no thought for myself. I'd just started to feel. . .restless with it. It wasn't enough for me anymore but I didn't know how to change things. And then I met you."

"I feel like that could be the starting sentence for every story I tell," she said, laughing a little and her fingers lightening over his arm again. Back to the dizzying, electrifying touches that made his body ignite.

"What sentence?"

"And then I met you," she echoed, a smile gracing her lips. A tease, a flirt. Happiness instead of all the rest of it - which he knew he'd brought with him too. Anguish and horror and dark nights of the soul. He'd brought her both sides.

"All right then," he answered. "Every story starts the same for us. It's a good story."

"You should write it," she hummed, amusement sprinkling the edges of her words. She was stroking the crook of his elbow and brushing her thumb just under his shirt sleeve. They were both in summer clothes this morning, headed towards the bed and breakfast where they'd spend a weekend before plunging back into their lives. It was good.

"I'll do that," he said finally. "I'll write it. I actually - yeah. I really want to. You inspire me."

She slid her hand up his arm to his shoulder, kept going until her fingers curled at the nape of his neck and stroked at the hair there, a little too long, curling up; he needed to cut it.

"I'll be your muse, Castle."

* * *

He stopped the car and she roused. "Was I asleep?"

"A little. I might talk in my sleep, but Kate, you drool."

"Shut up," she muttered, struggling with the seatbelt.

"I thought I'd have to mop up after-"

"I hate you," she grumbled, pushing open the door to the Range Rover. She stumbled when her feet hit the dirt, a little woozy, one leg still asleep and the sensation coming back in tingling waves. "Why'd we stop? Need me to drive?"

"No, I got hungry."

"So you stopped at a gas station?" she complained. He'd come around the car now and nudged her hip as he passed. "You can't possibly want to eat anything in there, Mr HardBody."

"You've ruined me. I eat all kinds of crap these days."

"Mm," she hummed, a vision unfurling in her mind as she walked behind him. "Like chocolate syrup."

From ahead, he laughed at her but didn't turn around. The sidewalk was grease-stained and the pumps were too close to the store for her liking; it made the place stink. He held open the door for her and she passed inside, noting her height on the ruler that was stickered at the glass. And Castle, coming in behind her, even taller, his shoulders broad and filling the space.

She closed her eyes a moment to regain some kind of control - she was still awash with warm sleep, and it left her a little physical, a little unbalanced - and then she opened her eyes and scouted the store for something she could snack on as well. The guy behind the counter had a dull sheen to his eyes that spoke of infinite boredom; he was rearranging the cartons of cigarettes behind him and not giving them much notice.

Castle hooked a finger at her hip. "Ooh, look, Beck. They have sushi."

"Rick," she warned, lifting her eyebrows. "Gas station sushi."

"I bet it's secretly amazing. Let me see." He pushed past her and headed for the refrigerated case; she moved instead for the back of the place, looking for water or something fruity.

"I'm over here," she muttered to him. If he bought that sushi, she was making him eat it here. No way did she want rank, raw fish stinking up the car for the rest of their drive. Even if it was only an hour.

She'd just stopped in front of the glass of the cooler, her eyes scanning the selections, when she heard the door up at the front slam open with a rattling shake of bells and the crack of metal into glass.

Beckett - whether instinctively or just because _of course_ it had to happen like this, _now_, to them - turned and crouched in the aisle even as she got a good look at who had come through.

Two guys, one in a leather jacket, the other a Yankees hoody and hat, had stormed through the doors. Both anxious, sweat slicking the neck of the tattooed baseball fan, pulling weapons from their jeans as they took up defensive positions at the counter.

Castle already had two cautious hands up, a tightly controlled fury on his face, as the guy in the leather jacket pushed forward and shoved a gun to the clerk's temple.

"Everything, all of it. Dump it on the counter."

Fuck.

Of course.

Castle had to stop for snacks at the one place that was getting robbed today.

* * *

The overhead Muzak was giving a staticky rendition of Leonard Cohen's 'Hallelujah', broken up by the half-sobs of the jittery clerk behind the counter, still fumbling to get the cash register open.

Castle positioned his body so that he had a clearer line of sight to Kate, but he kept his hands up and let himself shift, looking restless and jerky and nervous. A guy who might not be able to handle it. And it drew the leader's attention.

Leather Jacket flicked the gun away from the clerk for a second, his eyes on Castle, but he moved it back again and the moment was gone.

Not the moment Castle wanted anyway. Where was Kate?

"Hey, check the rest of the store," Jacket ordered over his shoulder. His fierce gaze was on the clerk, sliding a staying look to Castle.

"On it," the one in the hoody said back, and he immediately started down the nearest aisle - automotive, it looked - heading for the coolers of beer and water and soda.

Where Kate would be, should be.

Castle shifted on his feet and Leather Jacket jerked his gun arm back to him, a snarled command to stay still, but it wasn't enough to give Castle the advantage.

He realized, vaguely, that if Beckett were up here, she'd be trying to talk the guy down, defuse the situation, draw the perp's attention towards herself in an effort to minimize civilian casualities should her hostage negotiation training not work.

As a field agent, as a special ops assassin, Castle didn't care about that; he kept his mouth shut and his awareness high. He was looking exclusively to take the two out. Whatever means necessary.

He was counting on Kate to see that, to understand what opportunity he was waiting for and follow him. Just as she'd been trained as well.

He took the chance to slide his eyes towards where he'd last seen her and he realized the second thug had started beating the bushes up the next aisle - medicine - and would round the corner into the candy next. He knew Kate was somewhere near there, at the back, and Yankees fan would come across her sooner rather than later.

They'd have to do it at the same time.

He cleared his throat to gain more than just the gunman's attention. "Not looking for trouble, man."

The man's eyes darted to him and the gun didn't waver, merely slid straight toward Castle's heart. Jacket didn't speak at first, but a dizzying condescension, a rage filled up his whole face and twisted his lips so that he stepped closer and spit in Castle's face as he finally answered.

"Shut the fuck up."

Castle didn't move but he slid his eyes towards where she should-

There. Kate had moved to make eye contact with him at the sound of his voice, looking to see what he wanted. He put everything in his eyes and she nodded once from her crouched position at the end of the aisle. And then she scuttled back behind cover. The Yankees fan was rounding the cough drops and coming down past the candy bars, waving his gun like a stick, the idiot.

Beckett could take him.

Castle narrowed his gaze and turned it back to the man in the leather jacket. On one side, the clerk was fumbling with the safe and dumping money on top of the counter, plus lottery tickets and cigarettes, adding shit as he stammered and his hands shook. On the other side, Castle could just make out the Yankees punk drawing closer to Kate's hiding place.

_As one_, he mentally sent to her.

They had to to do this as one.

* * *

Beckett took in a deep breath and poised on the balls of her feet. She heard the Yankees fan making his way down the aisle, tapping the barrel of his weapon against every single package and candy bar as he moved.

Castle would strike when she did; she knew that much.

She mentally reviewed her options - limited as they were - and the body planning she was mapping out in advance. Heel of her hand to his chin. Grip the wrist and push his gun arm up even as she stepped in close, intimate, smell his breath and see his panicked surprise.

She had a moment of wild and sharp fear - what if Bracken had sent these two guys, what if they were horribly underestimating their opponent, what if his father was looking for payback right here and now in Kate's father's own backyard - but it receded as it came, drowned in the tide of her training and certainty.

Castle had her back; she had his.

Yankees fan tapped a big bag of M&Ms and chuckled as he glanced over his shoulder to his partner. "For later, man. We gotta-"

Beckett took him down.

* * *

Castle saw the instant she uncoiled, and he went for his man in a flash of speed and lethal accuracy, timed perfectly to Beckett.

A blow to Jacket's neck that crippled, the wrench of his arm upwards, and the gun went off. Castle slammed the weapon-hand into a rack of condoms near the register and broke the wrist with a flip, gave a sharp jab with his elbow into the man's nose. Blood gushed. Jacket screamed as Castle pushed on the snapped wrist, spun the man around and had him against the counter.

He grabbed a fistful of the man's hair and smashed his face against the counter, smearing blood as Jacket blacked out and fell to the floor.

Castle turned and saw Kate, standing like a warrior at the far end of the aisle, breathing hard and her cheeks flushed.

Her man was down. Unconscious.

It was over.

* * *

Beckett took over with the police, handling them to avoid the questions that would inevitably arise if and when Castle opened his mouth and reported the facts like a soldier rather than a civilian.

She used her badge, which was still hers for now. When Monday rolled around and she went to the CIA instead, she wasn't sure how long her detective status would last. It might work out well for the NYPD to have a liaison within the CIA, but why Gates would want to make the effort. . .

Still, Castle was going to insist, she knew that. It was an ideal cover, since it was and had been true. And questions like these were easier to answer from behind the badge.

Beckett stopped letting it fray at her and instead focused on walking the local officers through the scene, giving them the details they needed while Castle received 'medical attention' from the ambulance's EMTs. They were using his Richard Rodgers name for the official report - a guy who worked for the UN as a translator and had just gotten married didn't need to be up front and center with his detective wife.

The cops seemed to get it too; they extended her every professional courtesy and made noises about thanking her husband and taking care of things.

"And you both. . .took them out?" the lead officer asked. "Just like that."

She nodded swiftly. "He trains with me. Mixed martial arts."

"Oh?"

She made her eyes meet his, smiled gently. "He likes to know," she shrugged, lying and not lying at the same time. "He needs to know what I can do, what I'm capable of. Puts his mind at ease."

The officer gave her a raised eyebrow of a look but it seemed he was more impressed than curious.

Because Rick Rodgers had never been in the military, had never been purposefully captured in Afghanistan and held for six months before leading a rebellion and escaping with only a spoon as a weapon. Rick Rodgers hadn't been trained by the CIA as a lethal machine.

He was just the husband of an NYPD officer.

She hid a smile into her shoulder and saw him at the ambulance, talking good-naturedly with the paramedic.

"You guys mind?" she asked, gesturing towards her husband. He _was_ her husband - that much was true - and he definitely did like to know.

"Go ahead," the officer nodded.

So she did, heading for him slowly, letting him see her smile.

They had secrets, the two of them, shared secrets, a world that no one else was allowed in on. They worked in sync, they were together.

And she liked it. It worked. It more than worked - it _sang_.

Her whole life, right there in front of her, in him.

* * *

"Paramedic says not even a scratch," she said as she came to him.

Castle grinned a little and then suppressed it. "Oh yeah?"

"Officer Bryant is pretty impressed with you, too," she muttered then, but she had a look on her face like she was proud.

Of him.

Castle ruthlessly cut off the urge to grin like an idiot and instead took her by the hand. "You did some impressive work in there too."

She tilted her head, smirked a little as the sun blinded him. She was crowned in a nimbus of light, her body a faint bruise of color against the white of the summer day.

"We should get lunch somewhere close by," he said nonchalantly. "Since it's nearly one o'clock now."

"They said we can go, but I've left our contact info. So lunch would be good."

He nodded and stood up from where he was resting on the bumper of the ambulance; she tugged him to their car and took the keys out of his back pocket with a sideways reach of her hand. She was playing around.

She only chuckled when he lifted his eyebrows.

"You ever doubt me in there?" she asked suddenly.

"Nope." He paused with her at the back of the Range Rover, unwillng to let go of her hand just yet. "You doubt me?"

"Nope." She swung his hand a little and shrugged. "Had a moment where I wondered if Bracken or Black had sent them after us to ruin our day. But-"

He sighed at that but she was still smiling at him, shaking her head softly. "Kate-"

"No, just told you in the interest of being honest, Castle. Nothing we can do about it."

She looked okay; she looked like she had when they'd been sitting on the dock together last night, like she had when she'd woken up with him this morning. He hadn't yet figured out what it was, that look, but she softened it with a tenderness as she regarded him.

"I'll drive," she said, nudging him with the backs of her fingers. Het let her go and moved around the car to get in at the passenger's side.

When she put the key in the ignition and reached out to turn down the radio, he saw that little contented smile of pleasure on her face. She gave a little shiver and hummed, and he knew that sound - knew it from last night and from their bed, knew it from when he kissed her and she leaned into him, knew it from when they named the dog and bought that house and a hundred other moments.

She was happy. She was at peace with them - life - the world.

Castle clicked his seatbelt and snagged her hand before she could put the car in reverse. She lifted her eyes to him and smiled, a lock of hair falling from behind her ear and brushing her cheek.

"Hey. What's with the look?"

Her lips pulled up, a deeper grin. "I don't know, just saying. . .we took out a couple of idiots and no one got seriously hurt. A bruised larynx, broken wrist is nothing compared to what could've happened in there. I might be looking forward to Monday."

He let the grin flourish over his face too. "Well, it needs to be said."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Best partner ever," he grinned, and then he leaned in and kissed her like there would be no Monday.

* * *

End of **Close Encounters 7: Live and Let Die**

Stay Tuned for **Close Encounters 8: From Russia With Love**

**A/N: Before I start, I want to warn you all that CE8 contains - in the beginning chapters - scenes of extreme violence and sexual degradation. The two spies have a handle on it, but it's still some grey area events that might be triggers. The following scene is *not* one of those, but it might possibly give you an indication of how bad it will have gotten.**

* * *

She woke in the car to his fingers stroking her hair from her face, the warm weight of his hand and his thumb just under her eye. He smiled at her, and that he could - that the smile was there at all - pulled an answering one from her that stretched her whole face.

"Hey," she rasped, voice dark with sleep.

"Hey, beautiful," he murmured. Patently untrue, with her face swollen and her eye nearly shut with it and the prostitute's outfit. Jeez, it was terrible. But he looked like he was in love with her, adored her, and she smiled wider even though it hurt.

"You get us a room?" she asked, casting her eyes over the dark parking lot. A standard motel, Soviet-era, doors leading to the crumbling stairs and the hulking shape of an ice machine in the breezeway. She could see the outdoor pool from here, lit up so that the blue bobbed on the water, mesmerizing.

"I got us a room. Ground floor. You good?" He took the ice pack from her cheek and inspected it.

"I'm good," she affirmed and shifted in the seat to click open her seat belt. He got out of the car and they closed their doors at the same time, the slam reverberating in the empty parking lot. She came to his side and took his hand, cradling his swollen knuckles. He had the ice pack in his other hand, the room key, and she let him lead the way across the cracked pavement.

He opened the room, 109, and the closed-up smell hit them like a wave. "Sorry," he muttered.

She laughed and shook her head - carefully, slowly - and pushed past him to go inside. Flipping the comforter back, feeling through the sheets, she turned to him.

"It's fine," she said. "Little musty, but clean."

He nodded and shut the door after them, locked it, dropped keys and a gun to the formica top of the dresser. His back was to her and she saw the lines of tension begin to drain, wondered just how worked up he'd gotten himself while she'd slept during the car ride here.

Here. The middle of Russia, on a mission that had gone - not exactly wrong, but not right either.

She wanted to do something about it, for both of them, but she needed a shower first. A long, hot shower.

With him, preferrably. If he could even look at her like that - maybe she should wait, get clean, and then-?

She glanced over at him and he was standing motionless in the middle of the room, inert, blank. She suddenly had a powerful sense that this was what it had always been like for him, the letdown after a mission that had gone like theirs just had, the nothing that was creeping into his eyes and pushing out his soul.

"Castle," she murmured, reaching for him. He swayed at her touch but it took his eyes a long time to come back to her. She put her hands carefully at his waist, waited to see what his reaction would be before slowly inching his shirt out of his pants.

He stared down at her for half a beat more and then he seemed to come back to himself and his eyes shifted to silver in the darkness, that mercurial blue that spilled heat down her spine and curled her hips towards his.

He skimmed his hands at her back and came in to brush his mouth across her cheek, slowly, softly, barely there.

"I need a shower," she breathed at his ear. "And you do too."

His laughter was strained but it came, a rush of air across her temple. "Is that an invitation?"

"No. It's a demand." She pushed her fingers up under his shirt and splayed them over his abs, his ribs, felt the hitch of his breath as she touched him. "Got a problem with that?"

"No, ma'am. Lead the way."

* * *

Stay tuned for** Close Encounters 8: From Russia With Love**


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